


Kalopsia

by JoSkelly



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Follows Canon, Love Triangle, Madara is a go-getter, Manipulation, Protective!Madara, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, and tobirama is confused, clueless and instigator!Hashirama, eventual NSFW, mostly - Freeform, not really a love triangle more like a love linear, protective!tobirama, slight abuse, slight physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16411778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoSkelly/pseuds/JoSkelly
Summary: As Madara and Tobirama struggle through Konoha's beginnings, a new village resident proves to be increasingly difficult to ignore, tangling them all into a web of doubt, betrayal, solidarity, and desire. Essentially, a complicated and tumultuous love triangle.Madara x *female insert* x TobiramaNot a reader insert story, and not really an OC story. Further explanation in my author's notes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello. This story is originally from my tumblr account. I spent a long time working on it, almost two years, I think. Mostly for lack of confidence and motivation. I didn't want to make it just a regular love triangle, I really wanted to explore the Founders Era in general, as well as the characters, since we don't see much in canon. There is romance, of course, but also political and social drama
> 
> The female character is neither a reader insert nor an OC. She has no name, hence why you'll see ______ used where her name should be. I didn't do it for a particular reason. I like OCs but I prefer not to write an OC story for something as long as this. It's more vague, which I like. Plus, I know OCs turn people off sometimes. She still has some backstory for the sake of depth. Use whatever name you see fit for her, your own character's name, even. Hopefully seeing _____ doesn't ruin the flow of the story. It's only in there about three times, I think
> 
> Please let me know how you like the fic. I have lots of ideas for other Madara x s/o x Tobirama stories that I would like to post when I can, if I feel you may like to read them
> 
> Thanks to all my tumblr followers for encouraging me to continue with this story! And thanks to Bee for beta reading the whole thing and giving me inspiration. 
> 
>  
> 
> Kalopsia is a condition, state or delusion in which things appear more beautiful than they really are  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tobirama is not completely unaccustomed to it, but it’s becoming a nuisance.

Hashirama often calls impromptu meetings just to gather some company in his office and fight off boredom, which is ridiculous in itself. But there are more pressing matters concerning the diplomatic state of the village that Tobirama should be tending to. Matters that Hashirama left  _him_  to deal with.

As soon as he arrives, Tobirama is more than ready to lay into his elder brother for diverting his attention away from those urgent affairs. But when he pushes open the door to Hashirama’s office, Madara is there, sitting at his brother’s side.

Any berating Tobirama had dies at the sight. Madara’s presence is enough to momentarily complicate his thought process with a sting of annoyance.

“Tobirama.” Hashirama smiles, soft but tired, even though Tobirama is certain his brother has hardly finished half of his day’s workload. “You’re late.”

“I was handling  _your_  responsibilities,” he replies dryly, and catches Madara inspecting him with a sour eye. Tobirama would happily return the token of displeasure, but he’s presently occupied with his brother’s incompetence. “Which reminds me, you still have yet to return the reports I gave you for the village borders.”

“Ah! About that…” Hashirama fishes out a document from the unorganized pile on his desk, then carefully slides it to Tobirama.

Hashirama looks nervous, stilled by hesitance. He looks  _sheepish_. Which is never a good sign. “It seems there are some complications,” he says. “We should reconsider our final drafts for the distribution of village space, just until we get approval from all the clans.”

“Complications?” Tobirama already doesn’t like what that implies.

He had made certain that all clans blending into the village agreed to occupy the spaces provided, mostly because they were the only spaces available. Hashirama could only afford to produce so much housing using mokuton, with rudimentary accommodations too, until the amount of chakra he wasted was inconvenient. Besides, clans coming into the village were more likely to construct their own residences and compounds to suit specific needs. But that just meant prolonging the time it would take to settle everyone in. Border disputes were far too prevalent now, and far too threatening to the harmonious relationship that the village was meant to manufacture.

“Well that’s why I sent for you.” Hashirama straightens and tries to decide how he’s going to approach the subject. Reasoning with his brother is like walking on thin ice. “They don’t seem to agree with the terms we’ve provided for the boundaries—”

“They?”

Hashirama frowns, already dreading Tobirama’s impending temper. “You know who I’m talking about, Tobirama. I told you that a more congenial, even-handed approach to their clan’s requests would have proved more successful. Now they don’t agree with the terms we offered them. And when I say  _we_ , I mean you.”

“They can’t expect to get everything they ask for,” Tobirama argues. He already knows what clan is in question, since his brother is laying the blame on him. Those negotiations were his responsibility. They’re a smaller clan, which makes their grievances even more bothersome, but a prominent clan, nonetheless. A clan possessing resources and skills that would substantially benefit the village’s prosperity.

Tobirama reminds himself of that as he attempts courtesy, but it doesn’t work. “What  _specifically_  do they not agree with?”

“I’m not sure. Their advisor is coming here now to relay the requests of the clan heads. She’ll be bringing our previous draft with revisions.”

Tobirama knows what that entails. Meeting with their clan’s advisor is never a pleasant occasion. “And neither of you can take care of this? You had to pull me away from my duties to ?“ In other words, they’re asking him to reap what he sowed, to bear the brunt of an unavoidable dispute. Which isn’t entirely unfair, but he’s not looking forward to it. 

"I would have handled it,” Madara says confidently, breaking his silence. “But it  _is_  your commitment.”

Although flustered by the Uchiha’s interference, Tobirama tries to ignore him, mostly because he can see the worried shift of his elder brother’s face, silently pleading that he not rebut Madara. Not now, when there was enough conflict on their plate already.

“What do they expect to get out of this?” Tobirama asks bitterly, conceding his looming frustration and tearing his eyes away from Madara.

“She just wants to discuss, that’s all,” Hashirama almost beseeches. “I think it’s only fair we hear them out—”

“We’ve already revised our treaty for them once.” That had been an irritatingly complicated dilemma to handle in the first place. Another round of arguing and bargaining was not something he planned for his agenda that day, or any other day, for that matter. Any resonance of another village drawback could not be tolerated. “Allowing them any more than we already have will stir accusations of bias and leniency.”

“Be that as it may, I think we can afford to reconsider one more time—”

The surge of frustration in Tobirama’s chest is stifled by a call from the other side of the office door. The trio is silent. 

“Come in,” Hashirama finally replies, praying the conversation will find a peaceful end. But it’s likely wishful thinking.

Tobirama can tell the poise of her as she walks through the door is either forced or obligatory. Neither of them are happy to be there.

“______-san.” The elder Senju greets her with a smile that’s meant to clear the air of strained pause, but it fails.

“Hashirama-dono.” She comes to stand at his desk, and he has the instinctive urge to offer her a seat, but doubts she would take it. Judging by the way her sharp eyes hone in on Tobirama, her focus is far away from formalities.

“We have found issue with this proposal.” She slides a set of documents onto the table.

Hashirama’s hand hovers over the documents, but Tobirama snatches the papers before he can react.

“I thought you said that you would consider our requests,” she continues, as Tobirama’s eyes scan the pages. “It would have been easier for you to just deny us up front if you planned to disregard our grievances from the beginning.”

“You didn’t expect us to hand over such a large portion of the west village to your clan, did you? We hardly considered it.” He drops the papers on the desk, crosses his arms, and waits.

“Don’t exaggerate our requests,” she insists. “We simply ask for space. The Shimura are obstructing our borders. We don’t have room to function properly. As is, we’re cramming families into the residencies that have been provided while we construct more, but that isn’t possible if we have no foundation to build on. There is no room for us.”

“Please,” Hashirama cuts in. “We know space is limited now, but we’re still expanding. Besides, the goal of the village is to merge clans to strengthen peace…” He seems to understand that it isn’t the time for hopeful niceties, so he forgets that thought. “But we understand your concerns. There are clans still adapting to their own relocation, that’s why things are out of sorts right now. I promise that once complications are resolved—”

“I understand that.” She sounds sympathetic, as if she were afflicted to project her irritation onto him. “But we can’t just sit and endure without grievances. When we moved to join the village, we trusted that we would be welcomed with open arms, and that our best interests would be kept in mind. We can’t just bide our time waiting until we become a relevant concern.”

Tobirama scowls. “That’s not what this is. You can’t just petition for part of the entire village, not unless it’s for a legitimate reason. We decided to allocate boundaries based on space available and the density of clans, which in your case, isn’t considerable enough to serve as support for your requests. You’re not the only clan in this village, and by no means the largest. The region we assigned to you is more than enough to accommodate your clansmen.”

She’s glaring at him now, and some unnatural wave of alarm washes over him. He immediately puts it down. But oddly enough, the distress forces him to lower his tone to something abnormally calm.

“We gave you a fair amount of estate when your clan first joined the village,” he says. “Then we understood your grievances and added on to our original verdict, but now you’re asking for too much. We gave you more than we had the provisions for in the first place. You and your clan should be pleased with that much.”

"You’re asking us to be grateful for small mercies. It took time and effort to relocate our clan here, and we can’t be expected to settle with this.”

"You’re testing options that aren’t feasible,” Tobirama replies. “If you want to negotiate, then be practical.”

"That’s what my clan and I have been doing,” she insists. “Up until now, at least.” Tobirama doesn’t like the somber descent of her tone. It stops him from rebutting, but he listens with guarded irritation. She takes a deep breath, as if distressed by the weight of it all. “We’re tired of no progress. Unfortunate as it is to report, my clan has decided that if this negligence continues, we may have to reconsider our place in this village.” 

Her voice holds contrite, contrary to the stiff glower on her face. No one speaks. The tension is thick.

Tobirama doesn’t enjoy being on the end of ultimatums, and it’s especially unnerving coming from her. Normally, he would have no qualms about putting her in her place and reminding her that they didn’t need to be tolerating her insolence. They could easily cast her and her clan aside if they refused to concede to the terms provided. It was only Hashirama’s unyielding congeniality that allowed her to stand before them with such audacity. Tobirama often theorized that the same audacity foreboded unruliness in the future. And there was no room for that in the village, not if his elder brother intended to keep the peace he fought so hard to achieve.

Yet, Tobirama’s subconscious betrays that steadfast mentality. Contrary to his instincts, he thinks it only prudent to endure it. To what end, he can’t decide. His aggression has lost its fuel. That conviction in mind, while he’d love to snap at her, correct her, berate her—the need is lost to him.

“We don't want that at all,” Hashirama pleads eagerly. “Please relay to your clan leaders that we will fix this in any way that we can once the opportunity is available.”

“Thank you, Hashirama-dono. We’ll be waiting to see if you have any reconsiderations.”

She bows before leaving, to Hashirama, mainly. But it does nothing to mend the tension she leaves behind. It flares when she gives Tobirama a particular look that has him frowning.

When she’s gone, Hashirama releases a tight sigh and Tobirama closes his eyes to manage the waves of frustration branching through him.

“Something will need to be done about that,” Madara mutters nonchalantly, seemingly to nobody but himself.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama snaps, in that rare, low, disciplinary tone of his. “That was unnecessary.”

“She comes in here making demands of us, brother,” he argues, turning to face him. “You can’t keep giving in so easily, not with this many clans. Not when we haven’t properly distributed space in the village. Getting ahead of ourselves is not something we can afford.”

“We can discuss it with tact, without you attacking her and brushing off their concerns. It’s not her fault. She only shares her clan’s concerns, and wants to amend those concerns. You and I would do the same. If you can’t handle it, then either Madara or I will take over—”

“No _.”_ He doesn’t want that to happen. He  _can’t_  let it happen.

When the village first formed, Tobirama took up the task of accommodating smaller clans, leaving most, but not all of the diplomatic relations with larger clans to his elder brother, and begrudgingly, Madara. Managing smaller clans seemed a facile task at the time, but this clan has proven otherwise. He worked so diligently, so efficiently, and so unusually patiently to accommodate them. Yet it seemed all his efforts had so far been for naught. Because of that, Tobirama considers it a personal matter to contend them.

So he won’t leave it to anyone else. Not his brother, too generous and too congenial; not Madara, too unruly and unpredictable.

“We’ll fix it,” he decides finally. “It’s just going to take time, and practicality on your part, brother.”

He mutters the last of it as though Hashirama is at fault for the way the situation has spiraled out of control. But Tobirama knows it’s not. He would feel guilty if not for overwhelming irritation. It washes over him and he decides leaving will mend his temper and clear his mind.

He doesn’t even have the sense to offer Madara a parting glare before he gathers his documents and leaves without another word.

**~~~~~~~~~~~**

The single problem Madara found himself facing when the village had come to fruition were the residents. Of course, allying clans that had once been enemies was the point in itself, but he was a cautious man by nature. No matter how congenial he wanted to be, no matter how he longed to welcome new brothers and sisters with open arms, he wasn’t completely ready. The harmony contended him certainly, but besides Hashirama, he had yet to find any sense of companionship that made the village feel like the haven it was meant to. But then, there was always her.

He doesn’t remember seeing her in the warring years. He hardly bothered recognizing shinobi from other clans if they weren’t Senju. Her clan had never been enough of a threat to solicit his full attention, so it’s a surprise to him how notable she had become as the weeks went by, and how he found himself wishing for her company when they were separate. 

They’ve put down shuriken and kunai in favor of something as familiar as tea and shogi. Nothing Madara would have ever expected from someone who was once an enemy, though he opts not to question the recreations in favor of simply enjoying them. That was the point of a unified village, after all.

“You seem distracted.”

Her hand continues to glide down the parchment of her scroll despite his comment, though it breaks her concentration momentarily—what little she had, anyway.

“I’m just thinking,” she says.

“About?“

"What else would it be?”

He smiles at her curiously, knowingly. But she doesn’t see it.

The chaotic events of the day remain as a pleasant memory for him. Seeing her stomp into the office to berate Tobirama had been the highlight of his week. He didn’t even mind that she hardly paid him any attention. As long as she was yelling at Senju and not him, he couldn’t care less.

“You have no reason to be the disconcerted one,” he tells her. “Hashirama is sensitive, but I haven’t seen him that flustered in quite some time. You even had me at wit’s end with the way you came into his office today.”

The way her expression condenses into something restless and sullen warns him against making another comment, but he smirks. Madara can’t pass the opportunity to tease her, not when he’s in such a good mood already.

“I feel awful,” she admits. “I was too harsh.”

“I have told you countless times. Had you left negotiations with your clan to me in the first place, you would not be in this mess.”

She only smiles, but returns to her paperwork. “If I put all the responsibility on you, the Senju would be insulted… Well, Hashirama-dono is very considerate and understanding. But I can’t say the same for Tobirama.”

Madara smirks again. Then he follows her example and returns to reading over a scroll in his hand.

He doesn’t know how it all started. In the beginning, it was strictly formal. The first of their little rendezvous occurred solely to handle preliminary negotiations for her clan, before Tobirama took over. A few simple run-ins shifted to weekly occurrences and now, it was routine. Conversing, discussing, even debating. All endeavors he finds unusual with someone he’s known for only a short time, but it’s pleasant, nevertheless.

No one bothers them there. Madara is half convinced that they’re the only two people in the entire village who even utilize the public library so far. The privacy is comforting. It’s a nice shift from the disarray Hashirama’s company prompts, and Madara finds that he can’t relax in the man’s presence as of late. Tension between them seems to be rising, again. Subtle disagreements stretch into lengthy debates. Debates stretch into arguments. Madara does his best to put it out of his mind, seeing how they always mend those arguments. However, it still furnishes a swirl of anxiety in the back of his mind that he curses every day.

There with her in the library, he doesn’t have to worry about that. She’s easy to read. It’s comforting and familiar. Familiar enough that he thinks he can tell when there’s something vexing her.

“There’s more troubling you than just that.”

She smirks. A little laugh passes her lips. “You’re sure about that?”

“I am.” His dark eyes settle on her. The effort to mask her apprehension with nonchalance is almost pitiful.

Eventually, she can’t persist. She puts her brush down and rubs her eyelids. “I’m worried I might be ruining this for my clan.”

He narrows his eyes. There’s that deficiency in her conviction that he hates. “You are not the one ruining anything,” he insists.

She retrieves the brush again, wondering whether to write or to think, and watches the utensil thoughtfully. “Maybe we  _are_  being too greedy. Too impatient. Asking for too much.”

He wants to roll his eyes. She had made quite the impression the very first time her clan arrived in the village. Though not a clan head, she had the dedication and capability to carry diplomacy. A sharpness in her eyes captivated him. A competence hardened by war but welcoming of new opportunities. That’s what the village was meant for. Madara admired that.

But these moments of vulnerability where only a ghost of that strength seemed to exist just sickened him.

“It’s that apprehension that stops you from getting what you want.”

She looks at him. “By that you mean what?”

“If you plan to negotiate with Senju, and not me, then at least go to Hashirama. He will cater to your mild bargaining. His brother will not.”

That bitter tone is ever present. Not that it perplexes her, given she has her own disagreements with Tobirama. It’s simply different hearing him openly express malice when she knows better than to speak overly ill of the younger Senju, even if she did audaciously berate him that day.

She suddenly feels the slow creep of guilt again. To confront a man like Tobirama who prided himself on rigor and duty… He had every reason to hate her now. Maybe she had already ruined her clan’s chances.

“I would hardly call what I did today mild,” she says _. “_ You said it yourself. And I don’t need to remind you that I’m already regretting it.”

He hums, inspects her once more, then turns back to his own work.

She has reason to inquire his leniency, since he never lets their disputes die off so quickly, but she knows it’s likely to stir a long debate that she either won’t win, or won’t find the stamina to endure. Madara is tenacious when he wants to prove a point, and she doesn’t enjoy riling the temper she knows lies in waiting under his controlled demeanor.

Later, when night comes and fatigue overrides their focus, they abandon their paperwork. It’s always at this time that she finds an uncanny swirl of anxiety in her chest.

She doesn’t want to leave him. In his presence, she’s calmed by a sense of familiarity, something she hardly experiences most days. Coming into a village with so many prominent clans, all deferential to the two most powerful clans, Senju and Uchiha, surrounded by their influence—it’s equally unnerving and exciting.

Madara has proven assuring in that sense. It’s enough that he’s there to support her through the difficulties of village politics, but to treat her with such warmth and consideration? It’s more than she could have ever asked for. Probably more than she deserves.

He gathers his belongings, but as he begins to bid her a good night, he stops as if he’s forgotten something.

He says her name.

She turns at the sound of his voice.

"I meant what I said before.” His charcoal eyes build on the calm in his tone. “If you need anything, you come to me.”

It’s assertive, but not a command. Inviting, but not an ultimatum. She wants to reply, to oblige his remark and perhaps thank him, but the words don’t leave her throat.

She just nods, and he stares at her a moment longer before leaving.

~~~~~~~~~

A cloud of frustration hinders Tobirama’s thought process. With all the tension that’s been weighing on his shoulders, it’s impossible not to feel the bulk of it all.

Hashirama was in one of those rare, steadfast moods where his orders and wishes were paramount, and unshakable even by Tobirama. So when his elder brother ordered him to go deliver a new treaty to her by hand—no doubt a penalty for the way he had treated her—Tobirama obliged with a sting of frustration in his chest.

When he arrives at her clan’s neighborhood, she’s waiting near the entrance, a hard look on her face that he’s regretfully come to recognize. She even has her arms crossed, expectant and wary. He wonders if that’s how he looks when he does it.

“Tobirama,” she says, voice softer than expected, but firm, nonetheless. “An envoy said you would be coming to meet me. Thank you for being prompt.”

He ignores the way his nerves are already flaring with impatience. He wastes no time and hands over the documents. “My brother added in some details that he hopes you will find suitable.”

 _My brother and I_ , he begs to add. But there are still conditions he knows they won’t agree to. Or at least, conditions they won’t find particularly pleasant. And that’s his doing. He wasn’t going to let Hashirama get away with completely revising their treaty without compromise.

She takes the scroll and reads over it, only briefly. "I was beginning to think you would make us wait again. I’m happy you reconsidered our requests so quickly.”

He withholds a frown. Already, it’s scattering his patience. But he has to try. He knows he does.

"As I’m sure you know, we’re juggling multiple treaties and negotiations at once. Including negotiations with the daimyo. But my brother wanted me to tell you that we haven’t forgotten about you.”

“Just almost forgotten,” she murmurs, eyes still scanning the document.

That time Tobirama does frown, but fortunately, she doesn’t notice. He watches her as she mindfully examines the treaty, perplexed by his onset of restlessness, one he notices so often now.

Why was it becoming so difficult? Certainly alliances were tedious things to manage, but he would have never expected to arrive at an impasse like this. Especially with a clan  _advisor_ , out of all people. Clan heads were usually the stubborn ones. He knew that much by watching his elder brother for so many years. It didn’t make sense to him. 

Then from his anger stems doubt. He keeps thinking about what Madara said.

 _I would have handled it_.

Tobirama wonders if there’s any truth behind that. Would Madara prove more efficient in this situation? Would he be more capable? Would he be on the receiving end of her spite like this? For some reason, he doesn’t think so. In fact, Tobirama can’t recall her ever giving Madara the wary glares that  _he_  received so often. Not one frown, scowl, or sharp rebuttal. 

A moment later, she detracts her attention from the documents. “I’ll present these to my clan heads and we’ll finalize the negotiations once we review it in detail. If they’re satisfied, at least. Until then, keep us updated with anything more that you Senju decide, please.”

He definitely doesn’t like the intonation behind her words _,_ but again, he refrains from anger. He can’t afford that.

“Fine,” he says, holding her gaze for much longer than he probably should.

She wishes he would just walk away. It would make it easier. The remorse and concerns haven’t escaped her train of thought. Was she being too harsh about the whole thing? Even now? Should she apologize? He must have his hands full, must be swimming in a never ending pool of conflict and disorder with other clans, most more prominent than hers. All those considerations have plagued her and made the pendent guilt even worse.

But no. She can’t apologize. He doesn’t deserve that. She shouldn’t be subjected to his temper and allow it to dictate the very welfare of her clan. They won’t suffer because of him.

He tears his eyes away first. He finds that it takes time during his walk back to Hashirama’s office for the tense set of his shoulders to relax.

~~~~~~~~

Later that day, she finally decides to review all of her paperwork. The treaty Tobirama gave her sits at the bottom of the pile. She’s saving the worst for last.

She figures it prudent to keep it from her clan heads until she inspects it herself. It’s likely misguided to hold essential information from them, but she’s willing to handle the brunt of the dilemma herself. Her high-strung, inattentive clan heads, who happily pour the arduous responsibility of politics on her without a second thought, probably don’t deserve that favor. They were no help at all in this situation. But still, she had a duty.

Fortunately, these anxieties are eased just a fraction with Madara at her side. They meet in the library, he tells her about his day, makes her laugh with stories of Hashirama’s antics. While he’s happy to amuse her, the mirth is bland. Even her smiles lack their usual fervor. She can’t fool him.

Another treaty draft for her clan was finalized that day, Madara knew. He’s curious as to whether that’s the cause of her dampened mood. She was never one to remain silent about her grievances before, so the fact that she’s concealing it is incredibly annoying.

He calls her name into the silence of the room.

She doesn’t answer immediately, instead chooses to read over the last text of the document in her hand before looking at him. “What?”

“Speak what’s on your mind.”

The facade breaks momentarily. She smiles, cynically and weakly. “Nothing is on my mind.”

“It must be something.” When she doesn’t answer, he continues to study her, unimpressed with her little ruse.

She gives in. “Just this entire… mess,“ she says simply.

“The new treaty,” he confirms. He almost feels guilty that village politics vexed her so. “I didn’t have a chance to review it.”

“Tobirama delivered it to me earlier.”

Did he? Madara wasn’t aware of that. As far as he knew, Hashirama settled on terms he thought would be decently agreeable. Madara hadn’t known whether or not Tobirama still had any input. 

“I hope for your sake that doesn’t mean he revised the conditions himself,” he says, almost irritated. “I had hoped you would heed my advice and discuss this issue with Hashirama and Hashirama only.”

“I did.” There’s a pointed hint of annoyance in her voice that he doesn’t like. “I spoke with Hashirama-dono. He contributed to the final decisions in the treaty.”

 _Contributed._ Madara knows what that means. Tobirama would never let his brother have full reign when it came to negotiating. It was the reason her clan was being treated with such neglect. It would be no different this time.

“Then hopefully you will finally be happy with the outcome,” he says. He wonders if that comes off as too sarcastic. Maybe it’s meant to. While he  _did_  wish for her troubles to be mended, a familiar sense of frustration and futility is clouding his calm.

It wasn’t fair that she had to endure so much. She worked so hard to please and safeguard her clan. How could she keep giving Tobirama so many chances to ruin that? Did she not see it was getting her nowhere?

Unaware of his exasperation, she smiles softly when he’s not looking. His demeanor has always piqued her interest; solemn and quiet, unless provoked. Having an acquaintance outside of her clan, the leader of the  _Uchiha_ , no less, is reassuring. But that doesn’t exempt him from her careful discretion. She still carries scars from Uchiha in past battles, but he makes it so tempting to forgo on caution and welcome his company. It almost seems dangerous.

One of his legs suddenly shifts under the table and brushes against hers. It comes to rest snugly right along the inside of her bare thigh, exposed by a slit in her dress.

It spreads a startling warmth through her. She’s about to shift away, but she waits to see if he moves first. 

He doesn’t.

Has he even noticed? He either hasn’t, or he’s playing oblivious. He’s too busy reading a book he grabbed off of the shelf to even look up at her.

She tries to make herself comfortable, tries to ignore the proximity that makes her heart race, and returns to her work.

It’s only when he attempts to reread the same page for the seventh time that he relents, and knows his focus is lost to him. He’s more invested in his doubt and scrutiny. Always obsessing with his thoughts. Always the skeptic.

He thinks about it for too long, until the sound of papers rustling against one another as she sorts through her documents drives his frustrated and worn mind past its limits. And he can no longer suppress his thoughts.

“Should I expect to have a part in consultations with your clan in the future, or will you keep up this trial and error agenda with Tobirama, and let him walk all over you?”

She stops what she’s doing, and looks at him. It’s so sudden. Maybe not  _unlike_  him, but it’s cold. She puts down her brush and inspects him purposefully. “I already told you, Madara. It’s enough that you and I are this familiar. I can’t neglect the Senju when it comes to diplomacy. Both your clans play a pivotal role in the politics here. The new negotiations will hopefully be sufficient. I doubt after the ranting and raving I did that there would be any further problems.”

“I would have made it much easier from the beginning.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear,” she says. “As much as I appreciate that, you know it’s ill advised. I have to keep a balance. Don’t you imagine that Tobirama would be offended if I left the Senju out of my clan’s affairs?”

“I suppose.”

That’s a simple resolve, even for him. She doesn’t trust it.

Maybe she says it to spite him, or an attempt at futile humor. But she says it anyway. “But that would make you quite happy, wouldn’t it? I’m starting to think that’s your goal. To use me to instigate Tobirama.“

And he’s aware of the teasing connotation. He’s familiar with the light edge of her voice that suggests such a sentiment. But he doesn’t find it amusing. He gives her a chilling look, and it stirs a sharp unease in her chest.

She should just shake it off, mark it as Madara’s conventional cynicism. But she can’t. It’s discouraging. In retrospect, she doesn’t deny that leaving political matters to him might have eased the whole process, but tension with the Senju isn’t something her clan needs.

“You won’t get me to change my mind, Madara.”

“You can’t trust him to consider your clan a priority.”

“Maybe not. But I understand he has the village’s well-being at heart.” There’s that soft edge to her voice again, the weakness that he hates. “If only he started treating us as  _part_  of the village, rather than just an after thought, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

There it is. That’s what he likes to hear.

Sometimes he feels misguided, like he’s the only one with a deep rooted resentment for the younger Senju brother. As far as he can tell, hers isn’t a distaste born from resentment, necessarily. But it’s obvious that she’s not fond of him. And that’s enough for Madara. It pleases him to know she feels the same way. If she could see Tobirama for what he was, she wouldn’t be exploited by him. That’s what he worried about.

“But when he delivered the treaty, he was… kind.  _His_  version of kind, at least.” Remarkably, her expression softens at the memory. “I’ll just have to read over the negotiations and we’ll move on from there. If more trouble arises, I’ll take care of it.”

Then that simmers the heat of his anger all over again.

“Then let me know how that goes.”

He goes back to his paperwork just as she glances over at him, her expression rigid. He didn’t bother masking the condescension that time.

“What is that supposed to mean?” It’s a question that doesn’t need to be answered. If she didn’t hear the spite in his voice, she can certainly tell in his body language that he’s displeased with her.

The warmth of his leg retreats as he straightens in his chair, tall and forcible. A purposeful move, she’s sure. The distance between them is punctuated and unnerving.

“You’re weak when it comes to the Senju,” he mutters finally, as if he had been debating whether or not to say it.

She’s about to protest against it, but that would be too hasty. It would only validate his statement. "Weak? How so? Because I respect them?”

"It’s not a matter of respect,” he argues. “You’re too eager to please them.”

“Of course I want to please them. I want to please my clan, too, by sorting out these negotiations.”

“If that were true, you would stop placing so much confidence in Tobirama. Your pride is holding you back.”

“My pride?” 

Is he purposely trying to anger her? If so, it’s working. He’s never provoked her like this before. 

While her reactions aren’t exactly pleasing, he at least knows the subject flusters her. Which only supplements his suspicions. But he’s on thin ice now, he knows that.

“You claim to be unhappy with the negligence your clan is experiencing, and at Tobirama’s hand. Yet you do nothing about it.”

"What do you mean?” she asks incredulously. “Are you saying I’m content with the position my clan is in—”

“I’m saying you would sooner prolong your dilemma than fix it, all because you’re too proud to admit that you made a mistake by leaving this in Tobirama’s hands. I might even venture to say that you’re afraid of any change because you look incapable already.” Madara shuts his book and stands, maybe to shake off the intensity of that statement, because he knows it’s a catalyst for something unpleasant. He knows what it will turn into now. But he had to say it. It had been weighing much too heavily on his mind.

He says nothing else, just moves to place the book on a shelf and bides time by eyeing others. But she’s frustrated.

“It’s not about my pride,” she protests, standing and moving close to him, close enough to see how his charcoal eyes warn her to remember her place. He’s the leader of the Uchiha. She’s an advisor to a lesser clan. She needs to reel in her audacity. But she’s not deterred. “I care about my clan, Madara. Don’t try and tell me that I don’t. And I’m not incapable. That’s why I keep badgering Tobirama with our requests, because I want what’s  _best_ for my clan.”

He doesn’t answer, but he scoffs at her, as if debating her wouldn’t be worth his time. As if she were just a naive child. It angers her beyond belief.

“I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult,” she tells him. “It’s like you  _want_  me jeopardize my clan’s alliance with the Senju. I thought you wanted unity within the village. You’ve been picking apart my decisions like this for weeks. All you’re doing is antagonizing me.” That realization suddenly hurts her. Was that really it? Was she just some toy to manipulate for his amusement?

“You’re acting like Tobirama,” she spits out finally. It’s the worst possible thing she can think to say in the moment. “Arrogant and ignorant.”

She leaves it at that, even if it hurts to speak those words. She doesn’t  _want_  to hurt him, but in the heat of her frustration, she finds triumph in his tight expression and lack of response.

But she can’t be there anymore. The tension is too thick now. Regret will come to fruition eventually. And she doesn’t want to be with him when the turmoil floods her. If she’s going to suffer the consequences, let it be away from him.

She sounds defeated when she tells him, “Goodnight, Madara.”

She takes her documents off the table and makes for the exit, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her back.

Her hand furls into his sleeve just as fast in an attempt to pry herself away, but his grip is too strong and his eyes too fearsome. She stills immediately.

“Do not compare me to Tobirama,” he leers down at her. “And do not write off my concerns as a hindrance to this village. I’m only wary because I have to be. Which is why I’m giving you this advice in hopes you’ll open your eyes and see what I do.”

“You can be wary without being malicious,” she protests. His grip lessens when the rashness of her tone is replaced with caution, but he doesn’t let go completely. And she for some reason has no intention of making him. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But this is my clan. It’s my responsibility. You’re a clan leader. I’m not. It’s not as easy for me to pick and choose my battles. All I want to do is assure that my clan is safe and settled.”

The tone of her voice is undoubtedly rectifying. All at once, it stirs guilt and admiration and passion in his shrouded mind.

His grip loosens until it’s just the feather light touch of his gloved fingertips on her skin. Most anyone in her position would be quaking under the scrutiny of his sober, unforgiving stare. But he can feel under his hand that she’s still, completely still. How admirable.

It reminds him why she’s so entertaining. Mesmerizing, even. And why her refusal to heed his words is so frustrating.

“Don’t be so quick to let your guard down,” he tells her. “You should know better than to instill trust in others so easily. It may come back to bite you.” His eyes wander over her, searching for something…  _Something_. But even he doesn’t know what it is that pulls his distress.

A moment later he leaves, but her feet are still planted to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

Hashirama is well aware that he should settle as a bystander in these sort of situations, but it’s bothering him. 

He first notices his brother’s mood while they’re sorting through paperwork. Tobirama is quiet. Too quiet. He’s not a talkative man by nature, but Hashirama would have expected him to at least take up discussion of their daily duties, or ask for updates on recent negotiations, maybe even lecture him about something—he expected  _something_. It’s almost shameful how badly Hashirama wanted to be assured that all was well. But no, his brother remains silent. 

It continues for days, until Hashirama can no longer bottle his concerns. “What’s wrong with you, Tobirama?” he asks one afternoon. 

“Nothing.” He leaves it at that.

Hashirama pouts. “There must be something.”

“There is nothing, brother. Finish reading those documents.”

“Are you sure? These past few days you’ve been—”

“Enough. We don’t have time for this.”

And there’s the familiar bite in his voice, sharp as a blade. That familiarity would comfort Hashirama, in a base, uncanny sort of way that only he as Tobirama’s brother would understand, but it still doesn’t satisfy his anxiety.

There’s something different about the frustration radiating off of his brother. He can’t remember the last time Tobirama looked so restless. It worries him. Hashirama knows his brother assumes responsibility as he sees fit, but there’s only so much one man can handle. He needs Tobirama to slow down. 

“I really have no problem relieving you of some of your responsibilities, Tobirama. Just let me finalize mediations with a clan or two, lend me some of the work. I can take care of it. You can’t keep up with everything.”

“And neither can you. Which is the reason I have so much to deal with.”

Hashirama frowns, feeling a flash of guilt, but it’s quickly replaced by attentive curiosity. “So it  _is_  the negotiations?”

Tobirama huffs but doesn’t respond. If he can’t deter Hashirama with force, he can just hope his interest will eventually die off. But Hashirama comes to stand right at his side, and the younger Senju puts down the paper he’s reading to scowl up at him. “Brother—”

“If it  _is_  all this village work, then it wouldn’t hurt to simmer down. If only a little.”

“Yes. It would. We’re hanging by a thread as is.”

“You make it sound so serious!”

Tobirama is about to snap again and explain that it  _is_  serious, but he doesn’t want to waste another breath. Which is odd, since he never passes up the opportunity to reprimand Hashirama’s naivety. But he doesn’t have the energy.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama speaks when the silence is unsettling. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to temporarily deprive you of negotiation duties, as clan leader, and as your brother.”

Tobirama gives him a cold glare, one that would stop any other man in his tracks, but Hashirama is not deterred.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

Tobirama is furious. He doesn’t like how Hashirama is suddenly so intrusive, and jeopardizing village momentum with his trivialities in the process. Even if the delay is instigated by brotherly sentiment, Tobirama can’t forgive it so easily.

He shrugs off the swelling anger by returning his attention to paperwork. “We’re scrambling to get the village in order. It’s exhausting. That’s it.”

Well that’s a start, Hashirama thinks, even if he’s still convinced there’s much more hounding his brother’s disposition.

“We’re doing well, Tobirama. It’s just a few clans that haven’t found their place yet.” But now that Hashirama considers it, as he inspects his younger brother and the tension written all over his face, something clicks. “Unless that’s what you’re concerned about. Maybe  _one_  clan in particular…”

“What are you getting at?” Tobirama snaps, not caring for whatever meandering Hashirama is attempting.

"Hopefully when she comes to discuss the new treaty with me today, she will find it agreeable. I’m sure she will appreciate the changes you’ve made.”

And as if he hadn’t expected Hashirama to catch on so quickly, Tobirama scowls. “Brother—”

“If you want, you can speak to her too—”

“No.”

He wants to. He definitely does. But he shouldn’t. He doesn’t trust himself to be civil. He’ll stay out of it this time, even at the cost of damaging his strong pride. 

“She wants to speak with you,” he says. “Not me.”

“Well, she didn’t specifically say that,” Hashirama suggests. “Maybe you should be the one to review—”

“ _No_.”

That’s much sharper. Hashirama is skeptical. “That’s not like you to settle with being excluded, Tobirama.”

“If it’s going to appease her and make this easier, then I’ll deal with it.”

And Hashirama is suddenly smiling, breaking past suspicion and welcoming intrigue. “Is this what’s been upsetting you, Tobirama? That she's getting the better of you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he counters, somehow not so confident in his anger. “I’m still infuriated by the way she’s been treating us. She’s been nothing but difficult and disrespectful.”

The elder Senju laughs. “Tobirama, if anything,  _you’re_  the one who’s been—” 

Madara announces himself outside of the room, and walks in.

Tobirama stiffens, and prays that Hashirama doesn’t open his mouth again. He can’t mention  _anything_  about her with the Uchiha around. The dilemma shouldn’t even be warranting his brother’s suspicions, but Tobirama will  _not_  have Madara involved. He doesn’t miss the delayed glances that the Uchiha sends her across the room whenever they’re together. He’s not blind. Which makes the confidentiality of his problem all the more imperative. To have Madara involved in his business would be opening the flood gates of disaster.

"Madara!” It’s as if Hashirama is completely absolved of the tension so heavy just a moment ago. “Did you speak to the Akimichi?”

“Yes.” He closes the door on his way in and notes immediately that Tobirama is on edge, more so than usual. But he chooses to ignore it. “Did you speak to ______?”

“Ah, no… She’s meant to come later and speak to me about the final draft of the treaty, along with her clan heads, I think. Apparently, they would like a face-to-face meeting this time.”

Tobirama boils over with renewed frustration, regretting his volitional exclusion. The reality of a final draft being rendered weighs heavily on his mind. Apparently, her clan came to a final decision about the treaty he had presented to them, and Tobirama anticipates that they’ll finally find a compromise. If not, her clan heads wouldn’t have agreed to something so personal as a face-to-face conference. Not when they could have sent her to convey their disagreement, again.

“When she does come, give her these.” Madara passes over a bundle of scrolls. "She forgot them the other night.”

 _The other night_ , Tobirama thinks. But he immediately puts the unpleasant thought out of his mind, wondering why it came at all.

"Of course.” Hashirama takes them and smiles warmly. “It’s nice of you to assist her with all the work she has, Madara.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” He takes a seat on the opposite end of the table from Tobirama. “I just offer my company.”

Hashirama pouts. “But when I ask for company, you both chastise me.”

Madara rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment, just fingers through a stack of paperwork Hashirama has miraculously finished.

Tobirama would berate his brother for even complaining, but he’s suddenly distressed. He doesn’t like the situation. He doesn’t want to be there, regardless of how much it will damage his pride to leave. The last thing he wants is to give Madara the impression that his company is what drives him away, true as it may be.

Nevertheless, he gathers his papers and stands. "Look over what I gave you and bring them to me when you’re finished, brother.”

Hashirama perks up. “Oh, you’re leaving? Where are you going?”

“To the academy. I need to inspect the newly built classrooms.”

Hashirama is about to protest, but he can see the determination written on his brother’s face. Madara too sees the underlying cause of his departure. He would have to be a fool not to.

Tobirama is hardly scathed by any unrest created from his negotiations, from his own mistakes. Madara knows very well how little regret Tobirama carries when others suffer from his actions. But he’s obviously troubled this time. Troubled by the tension he’s caused with  _her_  clan. Madara keeps that in mind.

~~~~~~~ 

Tobirama fends off turbulent thoughts by training his team. It’s a nuisance at times, usually when they’re behaving like brats or attempting to persuade him into leniency, knowing full well he has no intentions of letting them off that easily. But it’s a sufficient distraction away from the tension revolving around village matters. At least, that’s what he had hoped for.

He’s halfway through a lesson on shuriken when he senses her chakra. She’s only beyond the tree line of the field where they train, about to come into view. But he won’t turn over his shoulder to look.

He tells his team to go run laps before the inevitability of their intrusiveness becomes a problem. They complain, but he doesn’t tell them again. He’s too focused on her coming closer and closer.

He’s spent a fair amount of time memorizing chakra in his lifetime, but hers is particular. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad, pleasant or displeasing, but it undoubtedly does something to put him on edge. He can’t focus whenever he feels it.

When he finally turns and prepares to meet the critical, cold stare he’s come to expect, it’s not there. If anything, she seems rather hesitant and misguided herself.

“Tobirama,” she says, stopping a considerable distance away from him.

He considers not replying, but his brother’s spiel over courtesy and manners is playing in loops in his head, along with a throbbing unease that he hates.

“What is it?” he replies. He makes it sound as welcoming as possible. He doesn't think it works. 

She looks away from him then and inhales deeply, forcefully. Without even trying to read her agitated chakra, he can already tell she’s conflicted about her approach. “I just wanted to come speak to you about the treaty.”

He curses to himself. It wasn’t what he needed at the moment.  

“I suspect that your brother will tell you later, but we did accept your terms.”

Oh. So he had been right, after all. Still, it’s a surprise that she reports it so congenially. He knows for a fact that there were stipulations in the final agreement that didn’t exactly comply to what her clan wanted, stipulations  _he_  had sanctioned. Tobirama assumed she would be marginally irritated. But this? An almost  _amiable_  encounter? He would be suspicious if he wasn’t so relieved.

“I see,” he says. 

“It took some consideration, and… bickering among some of the elites in my clan, but the treaty is finally enacted and we plan to make arrangements to fit your terms.”

Hashirama probably had a great deal to do with that, Tobirama thinks. He hates to admit it, but congenial negotiating did have its advantages. His brother was right about that. But Hashirama is also more than capable of adding the right amount of authority when necessary, so it’s not entirely surprising that his elder brother was able to pull it off. Tobirama is at least relieved for that. He’ll have to thank him later.

“Also… I wanted to express my gratitude.”

That shakes him from his train of thought. He blinks in confusion. “For?”

“Your brother told me what you did. Speaking to the Shimura and Sarutobi, asking that they accommodate space for our clan momentarily until we’re settled. That must have been... taxing. I hear neither of their clan heads are very compliant. Yet you convinced them, somehow. So, thank you.”

Nevermind. He’s going to have a few words with his brother when he sees him. 

That fact was meant to be completely  _off_  the record, not just to save other clans from hearing of it, but to save him from this embarrassment. It was one thing to actually go out of his way and haggle for her clan’s benefit, but for her to  _know_  that he had done it…

But maybe the genuine, rare semblance of a smile she’s giving him is worth it.

Regardless, he evades the sentimental thought as much as possible. “Are you satisfied?”

She notices his hesitance, and decides the question isn’t spiteful, so she nods. “The clan heads are satisfied. Not completely, though, given that it  _is_  a temporary reprise. But I would say satisfied, nonetheless.”

"Are  _you_  satisfied?”

He doesn’t realize how sharp it sounds until he says it. It’s meant as a serious question. He truly wants to know, in case he needs to prepare for any more discourse. So maybe it  _had_  been spoken in aggression. Yet it’s quite clear she doesn’t detect that.

Now her smile twists into a smirk, and the heat of frustration flares through him. "I would have been happier if it never happened in the first place.” 

He just glares.

“But I understand the circumstances that the village is facing now,” she amends. “We’ll work with what we have.”

He’s having trouble concentrating. He’s half convinced it’s just her chakra irritating him, but that’s not it. Chakra rarely does that to him. It’s not strong like Hashirama’s, not forceful. Not threatening and bitter like Madara’s. Her chakra is serene. Comfortable, even. 

The following silence is difficult, though something about it is mildly pleasant. But she doesn’t let it last.

“Are those your students?” she asks, eyes focused somewhere beyond him.

He glances over his shoulder to see the three of them, barely running, staring back at him, blatantly abandoning their task in an attempt to eavesdrop from a distance. How nosy.

He grunts. “Yes.”

“I had heard you were taking up students. And none were Senju. All from different clans. A very diverse group. I was impressed.”

He doesn’t even have to ask to know the connotation behind those mocking words. But they’re spoken without malice, so he supposes there’s no need to defend himself.

"I would like to meet them,” she says.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

She frowns a little, but it hardly does anything to ruin her unusually content mood. “Refusing my requests, as usual.”

She’s teasing him again. Not something most people would dare attempt. A strange feeling of ease runs through him, which he immediately casts out. “They don’t deserve any breaks from their training today. They’re too unruly for their own good.”

“As most kids are at that age. They should be enjoying themselves, not worrying about war. Like we were. It’s refreshing, if you ask me.”

That’s true, and part of the reason he was so determined to form his team in the first place. They’re in his peripheral now, still jogging more than running. He has half the mind to yell at them, but she cuts his concentration.

“But I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “They look like they could use some work.”

He actually smirks to that, and for once, doesn’t feel bothered to wipe it off of his face. The atmosphere is comforting, even though odd and rather unconventional.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she reiterates. Then the smirk is replaced by a thin line of his lips. The dreaded cordiality returns. “I know this has been difficult.”

He eyes her curiously. Genuine sincerity? Or sarcasm? He can’t tell. And he normally can.

“Whatever benefits the village,” he says, and leaves it at that.

It looks like she was expecting more. The momentary silence proves that much. Nevertheless, she nods, and without another word, turns the way she came.

As she’s departing, Tobirama hears the scurry of hasty footsteps coming his way.

“Who was that?” Koharu pries almost immediately.

“I didn’t know you had friends that were girls,” Hiruzen thinks out loud, and Koharu gives him pointed look.

Tobirama doesn’t look at them, though he’s entertained by their enthusiasm. The smirk returns once again.

“I didn’t tell you to stop running,” he says, as he watches her figure finally fade into the woods and back toward the village.

And the trio are back at it a moment later.

~~~~~~~~ 

She addresses herself outside of the door, and isn’t surprised by Hashirama’s delighted reply of permission. 

He’s smiling when she enters his office. “Oh!” It’s almost humorous how fast he pushes away his paperwork and gives her his full attention. “How can I help you?”

“Hashirama-dono, I came to ask if you would sign this.” She slides the scroll over to him and he takes it in his hands. It’s meant to finalize the last of their treaty, a simple scribal notice, just for the record. It seems redundant, and she feels bothersome having to come so often and seek out Senju affirmation. But for the first time, she arrives without anxieties. She had actually been happy to come retrieve his signature. 

“Ah, I see.” He reaches for a brush and dips it into ink, then offers her a light smile. “And please, I told you to do away with the formalities. There’s no need.”

She’s close to protesting, considering that he refuses to revoke her own honorifics, but she’s comforted by the cordiality. She thinks she might even be blushing.

“Also, I’m sure I’ve expressed this numerous times…” Probably  _too_  many times, Hashirama thinks. “But I’m grateful that this worked out. You really don’t know how these misunderstandings have troubled me. I’m sorry that it took so long—”

“Don’t worry about that,” she says, understanding that he’s dancing around the mention of his brother. “If anything, I’m the one who needs to apologize. Tobirama and I sorted out our differences, I think. Though I admit, he seemed flustered when I mentioned his deal with the Sarutobi and Shimura.”

Hashirama laughs nervously. “Now that I think about it, I  _was_  supposed to keep that a secret. Tobirama wasn’t very happy that I opened my mouth.”

She chuckles, and settles for a small smile when he returns the scroll to her.

“Well, regardless, I am happy that it worked out,” he says. “Thank you for your cooperation and patience.”

Out of instinct, she wonders if that’s sarcasm. But she forgets Hashirama isn’t his brother. “No, thank you,” she says as she bows. And she plans to promptly depart, not wanting to delay her other duties, or Hashirama’s, even if it doesn’t seem to be a particularly pressing matter for him.

“Oh, by the way,” he says just as she turns to walk out, “have you seen Madara today?”

That unsettles her in a way she didn’t expect. She hadn’t spoken to Madara since their little altercation the other night in the library. She had done a marvelous job of putting it out of her mind thus far. It was only due to the ambiguity of their relationship now that she found herself in this position, subtly avoiding him until she could organize her thoughts.

“No, I haven’t,” she says.

“Ah, I see… No worries, then.”

Hashirama is an awful lair. She can tell there’s something meaningful pinning his normally complacent demeanor. She probably shouldn’t pry, but she can’t help it. And Hashirama isn’t tenacious or insulting enough to leave her in the dark, hopefully.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

He scratches his head and frowns. “He didn’t come by this morning to talk about the Akimichi negotiations like he was supposed to. The last I spoke to him was… well, after the meeting with your clan heads, actually. One of his attendants came to report that he was busy, but it’s unlike him to not inform me beforehand. I was only wondering.”

“No, I haven’t seen him. But I plan to later.” Given this new predicament, it’s as good a time as ever to break her anxiety and go see him. Besides, that day was one of their routine library days. But is it even worth going if Madara claims to be busy? Surely, he would have sent an attendant, or at least a message, to her as well? “I’ll let you know.”

“I appreciate it,” he says. But when she turns again to leave, he chuckles sheepishly. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a while?” He sounds so hopeful, so silly. “At least until Tobirama comes and tells me to get back to work.”

She would almost feel bad, if she hadn’t just imagined Tobirama storming in and laying into his brother. It somehow makes her want to laugh.

“I would, but I have to go. Excuse me.” She bows and he pouts, but the smile finds its way back to his face with ease. Although, it’s still marred by that anxiety she heard in his voice when he spoke of Madara. And as she walks out, she feels it too.

~~~~~~~~ 

She tries hard to put down apprehension and replace it with determination, but she fears that Madara’s disposition is her fault. Maybe their conversation— _argument_ —tried his patience more than he could handle. In which case, aside from her fears being confirmed, she had a bone to pick with him.  _She_  hadn’t instigated the aggression, that had been  _his_  doing. If anything, she has more probable cause to hold onto the offense. He was in the wrong as well.

Madara is already there when she arrives at the library, signing and reviewing documents. She hadn’t expected that. It’s obvious his demeanor is dampened, however. There’s a dispirited gloom clinging to him, making the silence even more unsettling.

Every stroke of his brush is punctuated by a small delay. She can see that he’s thinking, staring down at the paper for far too long until it’s annoyingly noticeable. Then, as though remembering reality, he resolves and continues his work. This cycle repeats until he stills completely, a tense brooding overtaking his features. It’s extensive even for a grim man like himself.

It  _has_  to be her fault. She thinks back to her earlier dedication to question his behavior, and not in a civil manner, either. But seeing him like this now, it’s impossible. She feels odd. She feels guilty.

“Madara?” she asks finally, unable to shake the apprehension of silence.

That firm voice momentarily pulls him from whatever dark thoughts occupied his mind, and he looks at her.

“Are you alright?”

An innocent, delicate question—so unlike what he’s used to. He hears that, and acknowledges how his demeanor must be affecting her.

“I’m fine.” He smooths more ink onto the scroll, with a rushed pace to compensate for his previous delays. But the strokes aren’t fluid, and he’s obviously still entranced with something beyond her knowledge.

“No,” she refutes. “You’re not.”

He looks at her, but says nothing. He could of course lie, convince her nothing was wrong and tell her to stop inquiring if she remained so persistent. Though he knows if she ever treated him with the same evasion, if she kept anything from him, he would be infuriated. 

He’s not particularly merciful, or sympathetic. But for her, he has to be.

Still, he looks away as the words pass his mouth. It doesn’t make the pain any less harrowing, or the reality any less crushing, but he’ll endure it. 

“Today was my brother’s birthday.”

It takes a moment to understand, but when she does, her heart hurts.

She was but a moment away from opening her mouth and addressing their dilemma the other night, the source which she assumed was causing his behavior. But this is worse. So much worse. 

Before she fully accepts her own resolve, her hand reaches out and folds over his, inviting, but cautious.

It’s out of sensitive and compassionate instinct, nothing more. But that sentiment changes drastically when he intertwines his fingers with hers.

It startles her, almost instantly rouses something precarious inside of her, but she remains silent. He seems lost in his own world again, staring at their joined hands, brows pulled together deep in thought. His thumb runs softly against her skin just once, making warmth run through her.

She definitely wants to say something, maybe just his name.  _Something_  to restore the innocent comfort she had initially suggested with the gesture. But it’s all gone a moment later.

He tears his eyes away and comes back to reality, slipping away from her and standing. “I have more work to do with the Uchiha. I promised some of my advisors I would be there in person to discuss certain matters.”

The sudden withdrawal flusters her, but she allows it, because he probably needs it. “I understand.”

He notes the despondency in her voice, the confusion etched into her expression as she tries to acclimate to what just occurred. Guilt rises in him, but he ignores it, gathers his scrolls, and walks out.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, all she thinks about is Izuna. 

She fleetingly remembers him from warring times. She can’t even conjure a face to put with the name, but he’s somehow familiar to her through Madara.

War was war. They all killed. Uchiha killed Senju. Senju killed Uchiha. It was natural. But it still must be painful for Madara, day by day sitting across from the man who murdered his younger brother. It must be agony.

In the evening as she’s returning to her clan’s neighborhood, she finds Tobirama walking out of their conference hall. He looks surprised, as though he hadn’t expected to see her there.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asks, not adversarial, but not as welcoming as she could be.

He notices, but chooses not to address it. “They said you weren’t here, so I had to speak to someone else. I came last night, too, but you were again absent.”

“I was with Madara.” As soon as she says it, she feels like she’s made a mistake. But she pretends to ignore it. “What’s going on?”

“One of your attendants will explain.”

He walks past her, ignoring her completely, but she doesn’t let him get away with that.

“What? Am I suddenly undeserving of your time?”

He’s irritated by the comment, and visibly annoyed, but he relents for the time being. “We’re gathering clan heads to discuss the academy.”

“What for?”

“It’s built, but stocking it and establishing a scholastic system is a whole other ordeal. We need instructors and supplies, among other things.”

“Oh. I see.”

He says nothing, and she stares uncomfortably. She can’t stop thinking about Izuna, and the warmth of Madara’s hand on hers.

Tobirama notices there’s something amiss, but can’t put his finger on it. "We’re trying for tomorrow,” he says as he turns to leave. “You’re an advisor. But my brother thinks you deserve to be there as much as any clan head, if you wish.”

Only your brother? she wonders. Or do you agree as well? She wants to tease him and ask, but she can’t find the good will to do so. Not then. The ease between them not so long ago seems compromised once again. 

She just nods. But as he’s walking away, she speaks her thoughts out loud, cursing herself as soon as she does.

“Will Madara be there?”

Tobirama tries to ignore the confusing, irritating thoughts suddenly put into his mind. “I suspect he will be.”

He glances over his shoulder and watches her closely for only a moment, watches her face twist into something he can’t decipher, then leaves.

~~~~~~~~~

As she regards the clan heads at the table quarreling with one another, she comes to truly sympathize with the effort it takes to determine compromise between so many people.

It was no more than an unhinged mess of unproductive arguing. Hashirama leaves no stone unturned in an effort to meet an agreeable consensus, but there’s never a pause without one clan head stirring a controversial point that riles all the others all over again. 

Madara sits quietly for the most part. She watches the Uchiha closely, seeking any remnants of the despair she had seen before, but he’s too difficult to read. His brows knit every time there’s a disagreement at the table. Or maybe it’s because Tobirama is the one who leads the general discussion, and is usually on the receiving end of dissent. Madara probably enjoys that, she thinks.

Her clan heads are engaged in the discord as well. They’re normally quiet, and hesitant to contribute. Hence why she’s always left to negotiate. But now they’re arguing with the Shimura—likely solicited, given they only recently had to concede part of their borders for her clan’s sake—and doing a less than commendable job of defending themselves.

She cuts in a moment later, only to explain what her clan heads can’t, for lack of deliberation. They’re still one of the smaller clans in the village, if not the smallest. It’s only rational that the Shimura would insist her clan contribute the standard amount of supplies for the academy that all clans are being asked to, regardless of their size. But they just can’t afford it. Not right now. 

Then one of the Shimura is snapping at her. “We’re still recovering from the warring period. Not that you would understand that. But we’ll still scrape together what we can to provide, as is only right. There should be no excuses from your end.”

"You think I don’t understand?” she returns swiftly, albeit lacking the confidence she would have liked. She hadn’t expected to be directly slighted. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“Of course you don’t.” He says it so flippantly, like it’s natural, expected.

Frustration runs through her, but Madara opens his mouth before she can.

“Why do you say that?”

The Shimura is instantly wary. The lines of his elderly, hard face tighten under Madara’s gaze. “I only meant to say that it’s imprudent that anyone but a leader speak for their clan.”

"Tobirama isn’t the leader of the Senju,” Madara returns. “He is an advisor. But he facilitated this, and you came to listen.” Everything about him demands authority. The way he sits, the way he crosses his arms. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t even look for Tobirama to gauge his reaction.

The Shimura is disturbed, on the verge of an anxious sweat that he tries hard to withhold. “That isn’t the same—”

“Because she’s a woman,” Madara finishes for him.

She’s startled. That isn’t like Madara. And he doesn’t even understand the impulse himself. 

There are men at that very table who retain traditional perspectives when it comes to a kunoichi’s place in war, Madara knows that. His father had been one of those men. And he suspects that the same mindset has been ingrained in him over the years. For that reason, he knows that if she were any other woman, he would likely treat her with the same cynicism. But he can’t. It’s  _her_. It’s different. He can’t explain why, but it is.

The Shimura retracts his statement. Madara has half the mind to make him apologize directly, but he fights to calm the combative passion within him. The Uchiha can’t even look at her for the remainder of the discussion.

And she’s anxious. Proud, shocked, slightly humiliated to have left her defense to someone else—though she supposes that’s hardly a reason to complain when it’s the leader of the Uchiha—but anxious, nonetheless.

Tobirama watches both of them, carefully and slightly distraught. The tie between them is something he can’t place, and something he’s always refused to acknowledge. But now it’s clear as day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She goes to Madara once it’s over, unable to tolerate the fact that he won’t even look at her.

It’s only after the other attendees have dispersed that she chooses to approach him. Maybe it’s to preserve whatever sense of private relations they once had, which is not likely to persist now with the way he spoke for her. 

“Madara,” she calls to him outside of the building. He turns and examines her under a dark mane of hair. “Are you alright?”

That’s stupid of her to ask, she knows. But she truly wants to know. His brief moment of vulnerability that day in the library shook her. Their relationship doesn’t feel the same, like the ability to relax around him is sundered.

“I’m fine,” he says. And truthfully, he is. Besides still pondering the way he came to her defense, of course. He can’t wrap his head around the sentiment behind his interjection. It was almost shameful, and uncharacteristic. But looking at her now, a refreshing sight after feeling like he hadn’t seen her in days, it seems like no question why he did what he did.

“And you?” he asks. “You seem out of sorts.”

She almost wants to laugh. The smooth normality of his voice is a relief, but she’s still lacking the ease that was once between them. There’s still so much left unsaid. From the time they argued, to his grief over Izuna. But she supposes it can be overlooked, for now.

"It’s been a long day,” is all she says.

He hums in agreement, and they walk in tandem without much thought.

He had meant to return to his home for the day, but he’s comfortable. He hardly walks through the village these days unless Hashirama drags him out. But with her at his side, it’s different. He can enjoy it in full.

They tour the streets, and Madara explains Hashirama’s current initiatives for the village. New buildings. New housing. New shops. Frivolous work, mostly. Especially when he’s supposed to be focusing on the academy, which is why Hashirama has chosen to keep his side-projects a secret from his brother, Madara says. The pair both find an odd humor in that. 

It’s surreal being with him like this, she thinks. Someone once so feared,  _still_  feared, by many, strolling at her side and giving her warm looks rarely offered to anyone else. It’s even more odd that they’ve seemingly washed away any tension that was so stifling just days before. She’s relieved for it, but somewhat uncertain.

They’re at the outskirts of the village now, at a path that leads to the surrounding lush, green woods. They chose an ideal region to build the village, she always thought. Most clans had battled through the shifty terrain of dense forests for decades now, yet finding herself landlocked around such a setting did not discomfort her or solicit turbulent memories of war. It was her home now. It was a place she would come to love, she knows.

The fresh wind that runs through the trees is only masked by the bakery settled near the edge of the village, sweet spices and warm dough making her smile. The rich smell of pastries leaves her nose the farther they venture from the village, and she’s about to suggest that they turn back, but something is nagging at her, a nuisance that her mind won’t let die. It’s a thought that needs to be voiced, even at the cost of shattering their serenity.

He’s paying no attention to her curbed demeanor, however. He’s glancing around inspecting the forest and the sky, grey clouds creeping over the faint sun to forebode rain.

“You stood up for me,” she says, breaking his lofty reflections.

He remains silent. She doesn’t know whether to take that as acknowledgement, or skepticism, so she continues.

“Thank you. But you didn’t have to, Madara.“

Finally, he glances at her, examines her like he’s searching for something.

"Do you really think that the Shimura would have taken you seriously had you defended yourself? Besides, if I hadn’t, I suspect Hashirama would have. And he would have meandered around the point, trying to be civil. You have to be concise with those type of men.”

 _Men like me_ , Madara thinks. Cold, stubborn, and as he had come to accept, traditional. She  _is_  a woman. And her presence among the elites in the village was, admittedly, peculiar at times.

What makes him any different from the Shimura man that snapped at her, besides the decency to keep his thoughts to himself? Was it any less insulting if he inwardly harbored the same bias? It confused him. Frustrated him, even. 

“You needed someone to defend you,” he speaks without thinking.

They had trekked past the brink of the village, even past the dense line of trees. Now, they stand in a large meadow that Madara has never seen before. He’s too busy examining the area to realize that she’s no longer at his side.

He looks back at her. She had paused a few paces behind him, an affronted frown on her face.

“Meaning what? That I couldn’t have defended myself?”

He should feel guilty about the comment. That low tone of hers surprises him, but he enjoys the threatening look in her eyes. It’s amusing. So he really should feel guiltier about  _wanting_  to keep agitating her.

“That is not what I meant,” he says. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

He walks around to admire the rich greenery surrounding them, and she trails after him, putting significant distance between them in some internalized sanction that he doesn’t seem to notice, or mind.

"It’s as I said,” he continues. “He wouldn’t have taken you seriously.”

It’s obvious by his relaxed tone that he’s purposely provoking her now, she knows that, but the sting of insult is all the same.

“Why?” she asks. “Because  _I’m a woman_?” 

She’s mocking him, he can tell. He shrugs. “He doesn’t seem to think women should partake in diplomatic matters.” He picks a flower from the nearest patch, pretends to admire it. “Likely doesn’t think women had any place in war, either.”

She comes to stop at his side. “And what do you think?” she asks, fighting a smirk, but glowering up at him all the same. “Should I be partaking in diplomatic matters? Did I have a right to fight in war?”

“A right, certainly. But the important question is whether or not you were even useful to the cause.” He’s still not looking at her. He hopes she can’t hear the goading humor in his voice. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to see firsthand. I was too busy fighting the men of your clan.”

She scowls, though it’s harmless, just as he expected. He doesn’t even bother hiding his playful smile anymore.

“Is that really what you think?” she asks.

“What if it is?”

When he looks back she’s only a step away from him, her lips a thin line, betrayed by the smirk she tries so hard to suppress. He almost doesn’t spot the kunai until he sees the shimmer of something metallic up her sleeve. He scoffs.

“What, did I upset you that much?”

She doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at him with puckish but stern eyes. 

It makes him want to laugh. “Where do you even keep a kunai hidden in that dress?”

“I’m always prepared.” Yet the way his eyes wander over her body makes her skin prickle, maybe even enough to regret what she had started.

"Apparently so,” he murmurs.

Her eyes sharpen with caution. “No sharingan.”

“I wouldn’t waste that on you, no need to worry.” 

She scoffs, letting the humor run freely now. Still, he can practically feel her growing apprehension. 

“I’m not fighting you,” he tells her flatly, moving his attention from her back to the bushes and flowers. 

“And why not?”

“There’s no point.”

“So you  _do_  think less of me because of what I am. And here I thought you were so chivalrous, defending me back there.”

He almost rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to fight you because I don’t  _want_  to fight you. I don’t have to. I have nothing to prove. However, if it’s going to repair your damaged pride—”

He hears the whisk of the kunai’s blade slice through the air as she thrusts and aims for him. He sees it before it hits its mark. He almost wants to laugh at how ridiculously slow the movement appears, even without sharingan.

To her, the next second is a whirlwind of motion. He’s kneeling over her, she’s flat on the ground, trapped beneath him, wrists pinned underneath his strong grip. He dangles her stolen kunai above her head, the tip pointing right down between her eyes. She struggles for less than a second and then stills, passive and vigilant, accepting her defeat.

Nerves of steel. He likes it, likes the way she looks like this. Underneath him, at his mercy, so contradicted by the fire in her eyes.

He doesn’t even realize he’s activated his sharingan until the pulse in her wrists quickens beneath his fingers, and she snaps her eyes closed.

Maybe he did it just to capture the triumphant memory. Or maybe it had been a completely subconscious decision. Eager thoughts stir within him, but he returns to reality a second later and shuts his eyes, casting away the visual jutsu.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s partially genuine, partially a formality. It was meant to be a recreational endeavor, he imagines. Something fun to pass the time, to soothe her ego. Something innocent. But he’s not capable of that. Not with her. He would blame her for the naivety, but she had no idea of knowing what dangerous urges her game would yield.

She’s completely silent besides subdued, taut breaths. He’s about to move off of her and help her to her feet, when she turns him over with a speed and strength he would have never anticipated.

She’s on top of him now, pins him by straddling his waist, with the kunai pressed so brazenly against his throat that he would strangle her if she were anyone else.

“I said no sharingan.”

He can’t tell if she’s infuriated, enthused, or both. If he had to guess, he would say infuriated. He can see it in her eyes. Those fiery, gleaming eyes.

“So you did.”

He’s not responding in the way she had hoped. He lies beneath her, unaffected, unshaken. She’s nearly out of breath just from adrenaline alone, but his chest is rising and falling in calm, fluid motions.

She wants to move away once she realizes how wrong it is. So very, unforgivingly wrong. Attacking the head of the Uchiha? How foolhardy she must look. Yet, her thoughts drift into something instinctive. She wonders what she could have accomplished in this position during the warring period. How easy it would have been to kill him like this. It should be a triumph to have bested him. But that’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t be doing this if he hadn’t permitted it. If he wanted, she would still be the one on the ground, still pinned underneath him, at his mercy. She knows that well enough. 

Then his hands slide up her thighs, slow and meaningful. She stiffens. She catches her balance and plants a palm on his hard chest. He thoroughly enjoys the way her mouth falls open in an unspoken protest.

He slowly pushes off the ground to sit up, legs bending as he brings them up toward his chest, caging her between his strong thighs and his body. He’s much too close, face mere inches away from hers. In his eyes she recognizes a familiar, dark humor, suggesting that though it was an impromptu decision, he had every intention of testing her composure like this at some point.

“Madara—” She had hoped to sound serious, like she was giving warning. But she only sounds lost and apprehensive. Her grip on the kunai falters, and the weapon slowly inches away from his neck.

His expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing to suggest he’s anywhere near as flustered as she is. The palm still pressed flat against his chest confirms that even his heart rate is barely a fraction above normal. The pace only hastens when she accidentally shifts against him and presses down against his lap. He digs his fingers into her side at the sensation, and she can’t handle it any longer.

She manages to climb off of him, flustered, sweat dampening her clothes, and barely able to think past the momentary hysteria.

He lets her go. Mostly because he knows holding her there would have welcomed a vehement altercation that he had no intention of stirring. He knows better than to test her more than he already has. He simply remains where he is and watches her hastily rise to her feet.

“I have to go. I have to speak with Hashirama about the negotiations. About the treaty.” The garbled words pose an even greater threat to her shame. But she can’t look back at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He commends her for composure, but he catches a glimpse of those apprehensive eyes just a moment later, just before she hurries off back toward the village.

He smirks.


	3. Chapter 3

I’ll see you tomorrow _,_ she had said.

But she doesn’t.

In fact, she doesn’t see Madara for the rest of the week. She avoids the library. She avoids the Uchiha neighborhood. She does all of this despite the fact she  _wants_  to see him, and somehow wants to forgive him of the bold trespass and act as if it doesn’t shoot chills down her spine even now.

She doesn’t even have the sense to send him a message and forewarn her absences from their library rendezvous. She can’t put her apprehension into words, let alone lie about it on a slip of paper.

She also fears that she may have angered or insulted him. And if that’s true, she doesn’t put it past him to come looking for her. For that reason, she explores the village. Remaining indoors will only encourage the stifling concerns, or make it easier for him to confront her, and that’s the last thing she needs.

Although she knows tending to paperwork could potentially serve as another distraction, she can’t force herself to endure it today. It will mean delaying a stack of documents waiting to be read, but she’ll allow herself the sacrifice just this once. As long as she can prolong a confrontation with Madara, just until she gathers her wits, she can face the consequences later.

She’s admiring a flower stall when a little voice catches her attention.

“Excuse me.”

She peers down to the girl poking her arm. Her full, bright eyes seem familiar.

“Hi,” the girl says, almost confidently, with an enthusiastic smile on her face.

She tries not to act as surprised as she feels. “Hello.”

“Do you know who I am?”

The naivety of the voice is amusing. She gives the girl a curious, long look. “You’re one of Tobirama’s disciples, I believe,” she recalls with a soft smile.

The girl’s smile brightens, and she nods. “I’m Koharu. What are you doing today?”

“What am I doing today?” she repeats, diverted by her charisma. She had met the girl only once, and in the briefest of encounters, but knows better than to question the endeavors of a child. “Well, nothing really—”

“Then will you come eat dango with me?”

She almost wants to laugh. “I’m sorry?”

“Tobirama-sensei won’t let us eat dango. If another adult comes, he might.” This time, the girl tugs on her sleeve and tries to lead her in the opposite direction. 

“Is that what he said?” the woman asks, genuinely curious, but hesitant to surrender to the girl’s impulse.

“No,” Koharu admits. “But I’m sure he will. You should come!”

“Koharu—” She’s surprised by how tight her grip is. “I don’t think I can—”

Tobirama rounds the corner of the flower stall, ready to scold the young girl for wandering off as soon as he spots her. “ _Koharu._ I said—” Then he stops when he notices the woman at her side.

She’s equally anxious, and doesn’t know why a greeting is stuck in her throat, but she can’t find the will to speak. They hadn’t actually spoken since the day before the academy meeting, and presumably, with an air of civility. Yet for some reason, she questions where they stand in that moment, almost like the caution is instinctive.

The Senju is trailed by the two other members of his team. The Sarutobi catches her attention first. His arms are crossed, and he’s frowning. She can’t help but wonder if he idolizes Tobirama that much.

“Stop wandering off  _Koharu_ ,” the boy snaps.

“I was  _trying_  to get dango for us!” she protests, then turns to Tobirama. “Tobirama-sensei, if she comes with us, we have to go get dango.”

Tobirama perks a curious brow, wondering where the girl conjured such an ultimatum. “I told you no, Koharu.”

She pouts, but her tight grip on the woman’s sleeve is unyielding. How persistent.

“Why not?!”

“Don’t argue!” Hiruzen contends. And the two are in a shouting match almost immediately. Koharu even forgets her grip on the woman’s sleeve as she storms toward the Sarutobi boy.

The woman watches them argue, both amused and perplexed by the spectacle. She didn’t imagine Tobirama’s disciples to be so rowdy. But they are kids, after all. And judging by the way Tobirama has yet to reprimand them, his leniency is more predominant than he would probably ever admit.

“It’s their day off,” he’s telling her suddenly, arms crossed, expression hard. “Which they don’t deserve.”

Koharu pouts, attention momentarily drawn away from Hiruzen. “That’s not fair, sensei. We haven’t had a break in weeks.”

"You don’t deserve one,” Hiruzen mutters, and suddenly they’re at it again, like second nature.

"They really are quite unruly.”

Tobirama looks at her as she says it, surprised to see the lightest of smiles adorning her lips.

He had seen her briefly days before, not long after their academy meeting, rushing into Hashirama’s office for something he never quite figured out. Unfortunately for her, Hashirama was absent, which only seemed to fluster her further when she came face-to-face with him instead.

Her efforts to subdue herself failed. He could see she was a mess of emotions, and it didn’t take much to sense Madara’s chakra clinging to her either. That was upsetting in itself. He had wanted to ask her about it, but the idea of badgering her while she was already distraught kept him from inquiring. And even now, he’s unsettled to see that she’s still distressed. He can read it in her expression, in the tentative glint of her eyes. But his students seem to serve as a suitable distraction for her. For once, he’s grateful.

“Sensei.” Koharu turns to him when she runs out of fuel to contend Hiruzen any longer. “Will you let us eat dango if we promise to work extra hard tomorrow?”

Tobirama frowns. “You should be working  _extra_  hard regardless.”

“Yeah!” Hiruzen exclaims, but the determination and confidence in his face falls a moment later, even before Koharu can chastise him. “But I  _am_  pretty hungry.”

Now the trio look to their sensei expectedly. Even the quiet one in the back who has yet to speak, the woman notes.

And they all adopt that persuasive softness in their eyes that Tobirama hates. They pull his heart strings in an annoying way. He hopes his contriving talents aren’t rubbing off on them. They’re becoming much too proficient in the art of swaying him.

That, and it’s no help to his conviction that she’s still right next to him. Still smiling, still looking pleased and content with the scene before her.

He doesn’t care much about how she views him as a sensei. He would deny the trio, then command that they run laps around the village the rest of the evening, and with no qualms whatsoever. Whether or not she saw him as unfair or stern for that isn’t something that he would allow to bother him. Why should he care? She probably thought as much already.

Yet again… maybe he  _does_  care. Just a little.

“Fine.”

Koharu grins and shouts in joy, and Hiruzen looks awfully triumphant. Even Homura can’t stop his smile.

“Will you eat with us sensei?” Hiruzen asks.

“I have work to do.”

He frowns, then Hiruzen tests his luck and points to the woman at his side. “Will you come?”

Tobirama feels incredibly foolish for the way he listens in for the answer.

She considers it. “Well…” 

Would it be  _unprofessional_  to agree? She doesn’t have the time, which could definitely serve as an excuse to decline. Paperwork remains as an annoyingly persistent reminder at the back of her mind. However, that seems incidental, considering she’s been wandering around the village procrastinating for who knows how long… and then she remembers why she’s there in the first place. 

A dango shop is likely the last place Madara would ever think to visit. Or at least, she hopes. Moreover, the presence of Tobirama and his team is somehow comforting, no matter how unconventional. In the end, she decides there’s no harm in it. 

When she agrees, Tobirama wishes he had never permitted it. But it’s virtually impossible to quell the team’s enthusiasm at that point, and he’s compelled to join them after insistent pleading.

The trio take their own table in the shop, and she shares the adjacent with Tobirama. They substitute tea for dango, observing the trio’s antics to pass the time. She doesn’t realize he’s also been observing  _her_ , until she catches him staring.

He would glance away, not liking that he was caught, but something stops him. Which is surprising, since their shared, unyielding gaze denotes an awkward silence that makes him feel odd. He’s the first to look away in the end.

He wants to say something, just to mediate the tension, a sentiment he finds so unusual. When has he ever bothered with the formality of conversation just to alleviate silence? 

“Can I ask you something?” She takes over the task for him.

He looks at her, curious but apprehensive. “What?”

She probably shouldn’t say it. She knows it won’t welcome anything productive or pleasant. “You and Madara.” The second she says the Uchiha’s name, Tobirama’s eyes narrow. "Besides outdated clan tension… why?”

“Why what?”

She frowns. “You know what. Why the hostility?”

She already knows the answer, at least on Madara’s behalf. Losing a sibling is gruesome. Looking your sibling’s murderer in the eye day after day is even worse. But if Tobirama’s loathing is anything like Madara’s, there must be something more that encourages the ill will.

He works his jaw in annoyance. It’s frustrating that she would even ask. Not that he ever tires of disparaging Madara, but it’s unpleasant that she would meddle. He decides to press the responsibility on her.

“Why?” he asks. “What has he told you?”

And she knows what he’s doing. She should have expected him to take the opportunity and pry into Madara’s agenda. It’s only natural that he would be so shrewd.

“He’s told me a few things,” she admits. “But your dislike for Madara is well known. You don’t bother concealing it.”

“And what  _things_  has he told you?”

“I know you killed his last brother.”

She says it with no hesitation at all, and can practically feel the frustration radiating off of him. The subject was merely beating a dead horse.

“Is that it? It was war,” he argues. “Was I supposed to let him kill me first?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then why run to Madara’s defense?”

“That’s not what I’m doing, either.”

Tobirama inhales a deep breath to dismantle his anger. If he had any ambition for their conversation to find a pleasant end, it was gone. “The Uchiha killed my brothers,” he tells her. “They probably killed your family, too. Your friends. Your clansmen.”

"The Uchiha. Not Madara in particular.”

Yet as she says it, she knows there’s logically no way to know for certain. She has no immediate family left. Only an aunt and a few cousins. The sting of that acknowledgement always eats at her. The idea of Madara taking a life that meant so much to her… it’s painful to entertain.

“You can’t blame Madara for everything,” she argues to repel the troubling thoughts. “Like you said, it was war. We were all fighting to survive. It’s only natural that some of us would kill, and die.” She takes a deep breath. “Even our families.”

“Then you can understand why I’m still sore about it.”

The tone irritates her. How is it possible to live in such ignorance? “If I treated you with the same contempt that you treat Madara, simply because of what happened in the past—”

“Are you suggesting that you don’t?”

She stops her next rebuttal, because she realizes it’s true. Even if her hostility has wavered significantly as of late, Tobirama makes it difficult to fully welcome cordiality. She can’t forget how strenuous he made her time as advisor during their negotiations. She hasn’t let go of the anger.

"My reasons are different. I don’t hold on to what happened during war. And I wouldn’t call it  _contempt._  But the transition into the village was difficult for me and my clan, and you didn’t help that. Don’t tell me my anger isn’t solicited. With the way you treated us in the beginning—”

“That’s not what we’re discussing. And if you’re so adamant about forgiving past discretions, then speak no more of the negotiations.” The authority in his tone stops her from going on. “You asked me a question, and I’m answering.”

"You’re right,” she admits, but he can clearly see the frustration twisting into her expression. “So then answer my question. And truthfully. Because you can’t refute what I’ve told you. Even I can look past what transpired in war. So, why do you hate him?”

"I don’t trust him.”

It’s simple, but familiar. She feels like Madara is sitting across from her, spewing the same words, the same enmity.

“I’m not lenient with those I don’t trust,” he continues. “For my clan, and for the village.”

She doesn’t know what compels her. Maybe it’s because the little dango shop is void of the diplomatic restraint that always hangs over her. Maybe it’s because too much has been on her mind. But she snaps at him.

“The Uchiha are part of the village. And so are  _we,_ my clan. So am  _I_. Yet you decided to neglect my clan and—”

“That’s not what I did—”

“How can you tell me that’s not what you did, when  _we_  were the ones suffering because of it?”

Her incredulous outburst is just loud enough that Tobirama’s team falls silent. It even draws the eyes of other customers.

Tobirama notices, but doesn’t feel ashamed. He only feels the ire grasping at his chest. Yet, he’s equally annoyed that it always comes down to this. A never ending contention he can’t seem to escape.

It’s a long moment before he wipes the scowl off of his face and exhales slowly. He forces down his anger, and realizes the calm is much more forgiving on his fatigued mind, even if his pride is compromised.

“I don’t want to argue,” he says quietly.

He takes a sip of his tea and enjoys the warmth that slides down his chest, before her next words bring that warmth back to his cheeks in the threat of irritation.

"Tobirama Senju doesn’t want to argue?” Her voice is softer now, seemingly inspired by the same composure. “I don’t believe that.”

He closes his eyes and frowns, ignoring the way his own conscience mocks his vulnerability. "I don’t have the time. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be at the academy.”

The mention of it brings her disconcerting memories. Madara defending her. Madara walking her around the village. The grassy field. His intense eyes. His hands on her.

She wonders what Tobirama had thought when Madara spoke out for her at the meeting, and wonders what he would think had he known what transpired between them afterward.

She puts down the shiver that runs through her and utilizes the change of atmosphere. “Have you had any luck funding the academy?”

He’s surprised at how easily she deserts her frustration, but decides not to comment, if only to encourage their little cease fire.

“A few clans back my efforts. But it won’t be enough if we want to put the academy into effect immediately. Without the resources and support we need, that won’t be possible. Building the damn thing was easier than stocking it.” She sees the lines of distress and prolonged anxiety in his face. She suddenly feels sympathy for him. "I can’t put nothing but Senju in this academy to serve as instructors. It needs to be a village effort.”

“My clan wasn’t opposed to it,” she offers.

“They didn’t agree to it either.”

That’s true. She had considered appealing to her clan heads after their obvious reluctance at the meeting, but hadn’t found the motivation to do so. At least, not until now.

“I can change their minds,” she says confidently.

He eyes her curiously, waiting for clarification.

“I think the academy is necessary,” she goes on. “Every clan that comes to the village brings children that need to be trained, trained the right way.”

That their ethics seem to correspond is unforeseen, though oddly pleasant. “Is that so?” he says, encouraging her to continue.

“It’s a comfort knowing the village as a whole can work towards a cause. No matter the differences between clans. If there’s anything we need right now, it’s an institution within the village to bring us together.”

And that’s when she realizes she’s used ‘ _us’_  for the first time when referring to the village. Maybe the sense of isolation that weighed her down so vigorously those last few weeks was on account of her own obtuseness. It’s satisfying to actually acknowledge herself as a member of the village.

Maybe Tobirama notices the shift in her demeanor too, because he leans in, as if interested.

“At the meeting, you seemed more devoted to defending your clan’s grievances than promoting my agenda.”

“Yes,” she admits. “Maybe I just hadn’t thoroughly considered what you were saying.”

Or maybe she was distracted by Madara. As ridiculous as that sounds, it was probably true. She could hardly focus on anything except him that entire meeting. It makes her feel guilty, having not given Tobirama’s ambitions serious thought. She sees the value in his words, and finds the idea of the academy, the idea of collaborating with Tobirama, promising. Maybe even exciting. 

“Also,” he begins, uncertain whether it’s relevant anymore, or if he should address it at all, but he’s genuinely and painstakingly curious, “you let the Shimura reprove you, and didn’t counter him at all. Why?”

“Well, Madara did that for me.”

She doesn’t like how that sounds, suddenly. It suggests something along the lines of fragility and weakness. He doesn’t like it either.

The second the Shimura opened his mouth, Tobirama had half the mind to demand that he leave. He wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense. Then Madara chose to play her knight in shining armor, which now that Tobirama thinks about it, is a product of his own hesitance. That’s even more frustrating. Never before has he withheld admonishing as he saw fit, especially at the expense of someone as idiotic and unpalatable as the Shimura leader. He was more than ready to upbraid the man, so why didn’t he?

“Not that he had any right to do so,” she murmurs suddenly, and catches his attention. “Madara is… a little more familiar than he should be, at times.”

“Is that so?” He can’t help but suspect that she’s equivocating the situation. “You two seem more than familiar.”

“No,” she corrects him almost too hastily, and for some reason, she feels like she’s betraying Madara by saying it. “Not really. I just consider him… more like my first true acquaintance here.” She realizes then as she speaks it into reality, that she hasn’t even admitted that to Madara. 

Tobirama is giving her full attention, even if they are discussing the man he abhors. His sharp, scarlet eyes watch her with a casual warmth, comforting her in a way she can’t describe. If she could ever tell Tobirama Senju was actually invested in anything, it would look like this.

But that’s mostly a product of his fleeting guilt. For anyone to gravitate toward Madara Uchiha, they must be desperate. Lonely, even. Which is probably a direct result of the way he treated her and her clan in the beginning. Had he really left her with no other option but to turn to the Uchiha for solace?

“And what about now?” he asks.

“What  _about_  now?” she returns, a little too defensively.

His lips tug downward in irritated doubt. He’s no fool. It’s obvious there’s tension prevalent in her relationship with the man. The way she tenses up at the mere mention of Madara’s name is more than enough proof of that. He figures he might as well inquire while he can.

“You seem uncomfortable. Does it have something to do with him?”

“No,” she answers all too fast. “What makes you say that?”

Then he decides it’s no use, not at the risk of putting her in a position she probably doesn’t want to be in. He’s finally found a median between her fierceness and calm. Triggering her temper is not something he wants to entertain at the moment.

“It’s nothing.”

Before she can open her mouth to say another word, she stops. She probably shouldn’t pry into his curiosity. It would start another argument.

Besides, thinking about Madara and their current relationship for too long only sends a prickling apprehension through her. To make matters worse, Tobirama says nothing, dubiously inviting another silence, one only interrupted by the exuberant chattering and exclamations from the trio at their side.

“I think it’s about time I leave,” she says, and stands from her seat. “I have a ridiculous amount of paperwork to read over.”

She’s about to reach into her pockets to fish out money, but he stops her.

“It’s fine, I have it.”

Her mouth opens to thank him, but she realizes how awkward and unusually congenial that would be. For them, at least. She just nods.

Yet as she walks away, leaving him with the parting gift of tense silence, she realizes it can’t keep ending like this. Like it  _always_  does.

So she turns to him. “Could I stop by the Senju office sometime soon? I know we’ve already settled negotiations and there’s truly no need to pester you further. But perhaps to discuss the academy? I have some ideas. If you would even be interested, of course.”

Is it a little audacious of her? Probably. She had no reason to seek any further collaboration with him. Not after the disarray of their past negotiations. That in itself branches suspicion through him. Yet, the idea intrigues him in a curious, but confusing way.

After carefully examining her, he nods. “That’s fine.”

And then she nods in turn, even smiles, and walks out of the shop.

He watches her until she’s out of sight. The next moment, Hiruzen and Koharu are interrogating him about the entire ordeal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’s so caught up in the myriad of enthusiasm that she doesn’t realize she’s venturing down an alley adjacent to Hashirama’s office. Then Madara is walking out the front door and approaching her.

Her steps falter. She wonders if she should turn and hurry the other way, but he’s already spotted her. It would be foolish of her to run away from it now. It’s probably what he expects, anyways. So she walks on, and faces him.

“You must have been extremely engrossed with work this past week not to come by the library once,” he says when he stops and blocks her path, voice full of smooth, pointed condescension. 

His approach is so sudden she actually backs up against the nearest wall, a mistake she only acknowledges once he looms closer and leers down at her.

“Yes, actually. I  _have_  been busy.”

Madara has never heard her voice so laced with audacity. Normally, he would like it. Now, it’s just annoying.

He examines her closely, for a long time. “Do you want me to apologize for what I did?” he asks slowly.

“Madara, that’s not… I was busy, nothing else,” she assures, ignoring the question that flusters her so much, and finding it difficult to look into his eyes as he glowers.

She feels trapped against the wall, trapped by his powerful eyes. A genjutsu with no sign of his sharingan. Her eyes move down the alley to see if they’re alone. And they are.

“Answer my question.”

Her eyes return to his. Would an apology compensate for what happened? Would it make any difference when the impression he made won’t disappear? Besides, she knows imploring for an apology would make her look weak. That’s not what she wants.

"No. I don’t need an apology.”

“Good.”

Her eyes narrow. She grasps for a quick witted reply, hopefully something insulting. She thinks it’s only fair to repay him with scorn.

Nothing comes, but he gives her no opportunity anyway. A meaningful, sharp look is all he offers as he steps away and continues down the alley in the opposite direction.

She stands still, doesn’t even look to watch him depart. She wants to be angry, wants to be disgusted. But she can’t. She just can’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Days shift into weeks, and she finds herself seeking solace in the Senju. One Senju in particular.

Collaborating with Tobirama for academy details has occupied most of her time. She often comes to speak with him and discuss lesson plans, classroom organization, and school hours, among other things. She’s half convinced he’s only allowing her input because she was one of, if not the first, to jump on board when it came to the academy’s foundation in the first place. But she finds that she’s more than happy to take up the job when they seem to function so surprisingly well together.

It’s unusual, given that weeks before, she would have found Tobirama’s presence alone troubling. She couldn’t settle in a room with him for more than minutes at a time without trying her own patience. But now she feels… welcomed by him.

Despite these occasional clemencies that for some reason got her heart pounding with excitement, she knows lingering tension is still buried within the depths of their conversations, within the very ambience around them. She would be foolish to assume it could be erased in its entirety, and in such a short amount of time. It hangs over them, a bomb waiting to be triggered. But so far, there have been no incidents, no jumping down each other’s throats. It’s a grand improvement from where they once were. Tobirama proves that one day in particular.

She comes to the office he shares with Hashirama to deliver an inventory report about weapons, rations, even the forehead protectors they had discussed—but when she walks in, she can feel the thickness of irritability around him.

He’s stressed. Very stressed. More so than usual. She figures it’s better to leave before he snaps at her and they spiral into an unnecessary argument.

She leaves the report on his desk. “Here’s the rundown of supplies we have, and what we need.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns to leave, a little disappointed that she’ll have to forfeit their daily conversation on account of his choleric nature.

Then softly, almost soft enough that she doesn’t even hear it,

"I appreciate it.”

His tone is distracted, but purposeful. She looks back as soon as he says it, because it’s obvious he doesn’t know what he’s done, not until he stops writing and glances up at her when he notices the pause.

It’s then he realizes, but attempts ignorance. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, doing an exceptionally good job of feigning innocence as she walks away. But he can practically feel the smirk radiating off of her as she leaves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s his anniversary, but Hashirama forces himself to spend the entire day in his office. He’s determined to clinch the pile of documents he’s amassed that week so he can head home and spend time with Mito. He feels like he hardly sees his wife at all as of late. 

She had swatted his shoulder playfully that morning and told him to finish work first before he tried to pull the anniversary card. Tobirama or Madara would undoubtedly upbraid him for even attempting it anyway, so he’ll keep his mouth shut. But certainly, there’s nothing wrong with a little incentive? Besides, he needs a break, even if no one but him thinks so.

Madara comes into the office a few minutes later, effectively distracting him from his work.

“Good afternoon,” Hashirama gushes, much too cheery for someone who looks like he’s drowning in scrolls.

Madara takes one look at the clutter on his desk and sighs. “What have you been doing all day, Hashirama?”

He pouts. “Don’t jump to conclusions! I finished all I needed to, and more. I’m trying to get ahead today.”

Madara is genuinely surprised, but also knows Hashirama doesn’t neglect village prosperity when it comes down to it, so it seems solicited.

He takes a seat next to the Senju, and aside from the normal brooding, Hashirama notes a gloomy air clinging to his friend.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No. I’m only considering this academy business that Tobirama is promoting.”

Hashirama frowns. “What specifically?”

"Asking these other clans to contribute and compromise, when they had enough of that moving into the village. It feels rushed.”

"Well, maybe.” Hashirama has considered that, but he’s too hesitant to imply to Tobirama that something seems amiss in his agenda. That’s not an argument he wants to risk. “But it’s something the village needs. We want the future generations to be unified.”

Madara makes a strained huff of agreement, but his concerns aren’t gone. “Everyone is running around in circles trying to acclimate and supply for their own, Hashirama. Expanding and settling. How can they be expected to make significant promises to the academy?”

“It’s going to be slow at first,” Hashirama admits, flipping through a stack of unsigned papers. His stomach twists in impatience already. "And the clans who don’t contribute the required amount will unfortunately be held responsible until they can supply their part. At least, that’s what Tobirama says. It will all fall into place with time.”

Madara looks at him. “What do you mean?”

Realizing his mistake a moment too late, Hashirama flushes, and can only stare at his Uchiha comrade. “Well…”

He knows he shouldn’t have mentioned it at all, but it was inevitable. He can’t keep anything from Madara. That, and Tobirama’s harsh diplomacy has been pestering his peace of mind. It’s no longer possible to keep the waves of uncertainty under wraps. He needed to share it with  _somebody_.

“Tobirama is convinced we should limit the amount of students from each clan that we allow to join the academy. The number will be proportionate to the amount of teachers and supplies that certain clan can offer. A give and take policy, Tobirama said…”

Hashirama is immediately disheartened, because he can practically feel Madara’s disgust with his brother growing. 

He can’t decide if what happens next proves to be a reprieve from the burgeoning tension, or an incentive. But it does hinder whatever argument was meant to entail.

Madara hears her before he sees her. Outside the office resonates her sweet, familiar laugh, and by the time his eyes wander to the door, she’s already walking in behind Tobirama.

Strange enough, even he’s smiling about whatever had her so amused. It’s a genuine smile, too. One Madara doesn’t think he’s ever seen on the younger Senju before.

They quickly stifle their diversion after realizing that Hashirama is not the only one present. That they hide it makes it all the worse for Madara.

"What a surprise!” Hashirama gleams. "How are you two today?" She smiles, but isn’t surprised when Tobirama brushes aside the greeting, and automatically takes the artfulness of diplomacy.

"Brother.” Tobirama glances away from Madara finally, attempting to ignore the Uchiha’s dark scrutiny. “I trust you reviewed the preceding requests from the daimyo.”

“Yes! I have.” Hashirama sounds so excited, so proud.

As he shuffles through a stack of scrolls, Tobirama realizes she’s not at his side anymore. She remains at the door, not daring to come closer. But he doesn’t have to guess why.

Madara’s eyes are firmly planted on her. She doesn’t break eye contact with the Uchiha, not once as the conversation between brothers continues undisturbed.

Hashirama is bragging about the work he’s managed to finish, and Tobirama is trying to focus, since his elder brother’s accomplishment is both surprising and pleasing. But he can’t handle the tension between the two others in the room. It stirs the pain of curiosity that has been eating at him since the night she came into Hashirama’s office looking flustered and anxious, with the Uchiha’s chakra all over her. What the hell had Madara done to agitate her that much?

Then Hashirama says something particular that breaks his train of thought.

“Brother,” Tobirama snaps. “We can’t establish trade routes until we actually have commodities  _to_  trade.”

"But we can promise  _something_ , at least,” Hashirama insists. “At least what the Senju have exported before.”

“Not yet. Before you even  _think_  of showing these to the daimyo, you have to budget our own goods to make certain you’re not blindly lending out your generosity.”

“Tobirama—”

“No. Our first priority is supplying for the village.”

“But—”

“No _—_ ”

” _Enough_ ,” Madara snaps. For the first time, his eyes leave the woman and hone in on Tobirama. “The Uchiha will contribute to the trade exports. That will be sufficient.”

Hashirama is startled. Madara is never  _that_  responsive to Tobirama’s attitude. He’s not usually one to antagonize. Hashirama hoped to never witness equal grounds of acrimony between them, and it’s fretfully unsettling that they’ve come to that point.

Tobirama glares, naturally. If there’s one thing he hates more than the Uchiha opening his mouth, it’s when he opens his mouth and addresses him directly. And to chide him no less? Tobirama is almost as disgruntled as his brother, ready to argue, until Madara breaks the thick gaze for a second. Just a split second, and he glances back to the office door, to her. Tobirama puts together the pieces almost immediately.

Madara is expecting him to fly off the handle. To make a scene. To embellish whatever unpleasant and heinous image of him that the Uchiha has tried to fashion in her mind. Madara expects him to be the bad guy. 

So Tobirama bites back what he wants to say, though it’s quite the task. Hashirama aids his restraint, jumping at the opportunity of silence and trying to redirect Tobirama’s attention.

“Yes, I’ll make arrangements,” he promises quickly. “That was my mistake.”

Hashirama doesn’t often appeal to Tobirama’s whims so easily, not unless he’s uncomfortable with the tension and hopes to mediate it as swiftly and harmlessly as possible. Now that tension is stifling. Not just with his brother and his best friend. Now, Hashirama soaks up the new tension he has discovered—the subtle, grim looks Madara sends to the other side of the room not going unnoticed.

“Good,” Tobirama mutters, practically seething with suppressed indignation.

He doesn’t look at Madara again. He passes over a document to Hashirama, the entire purpose for the toilsome visit. “Read over these,” he says curtly, and makes for the door.

Madara’s eyes are still on her, up until the very moment she leaves the room with Tobirama,  _trailing_  him, like a loyal dog, he thinks heatedly. 

“That was cold, Madara,“ Hashirama says as soon as they’re alone.

The Uchiha scoffs. “The myriad of times your brother has treated me with the same scorn, and now you admonish  _me_?”

“I wasn’t talking about Tobirama.”

Madara doesn’t even blink, but notes the unwelcome feelings of irritation take over once again. “Why do you say that?”

“ _Why_? Because I notice you hardly speak to her anymore.”

“I’ve been doing other things. So has she, apparently.” He adds the last part in only to appease his own spite.

Hashirama scratches his cheek. “She does spend a lot of time with Tobirama. Which I’m glad for. That whole ordeal with her clan and the treaty was a mess, and they seem to get along now. But you two always seemed so—”

“I have been doing other things,” he reiterates.

“Like?”

Madara looks at him. “You’re more persistent than usual.”

“I’m just curious.”

He sighs. “As I said, this academy dilemma is distracting. Hopefully we can alleviate the pressure on clans in the village, while at the same time reinforcing our hold on this land with trade negations. Then I will be at ease.”

He sounds honest. Honest enough that Hashirama wants to believe him. The idea of Madara juggling underlying tension outside of village negotiations is upsetting. Hashirama wants to know. He feels like he  _needs_ to. He wants to pry, but he knows Madara’s patience and willingness to open up is brittle. And if Madara says it’s only slight problems justifying his anxieties, then perhaps Hashirama’s own are unwarranted.

Besides, the Senju is reminded of the workload he’s burdened with when he looks upon his desk. He momentarily puts aside his concerns in favor signing as many documents as he can.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She meets with Tobirama the following day. It’s not a necessary venture, but she finds herself steering toward the Senju office as soon as she steps out of her home every morning, needing some sense of comfort to distract her incessantly busy mind.

Before she can take the first step toward the office door, however, Tobirama walks out.

He appears momentarily surprised to see her. “My brother and Madara are conducting a meeting with the Akimichi today,” he says almost immediately.

She realizes he means that the building is currently occupied. Tobirama is simply saving the both of them from being in the same vicinity as the Uchiha, possibly evading another awkward encounter. She’s grateful.

“Oh. I see.”

He expects her to leave, to tell him that they can discuss more academy business another day.

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind coming to my side of the village to talk about the academy?” she suggests.

His eyes narrow. He doesn’t like that idea. Not at all. Almost immediately, it shifts his mind into a discomfort of unfamiliarity.

“We have our own office that the clan heads rarely use. Also, our own library,” she adds, like she’s trying to convince him. “It’s smaller than the public library, but reserved only for advisors and the clan heads. We won’t be disturbed.”

He considers it, wondering why he’s so anxious. It’s definitely going to remove him from his comfort zone, if he ever had one in the first place.

Then he clears his throat without thoroughly considering his own verdict. “Fine.”

She smiles softly, satisfied that he put up no fight.

However, on the way there, it’s quiet, and annoyingly awkward. She also receives a decent number of quizzical looks from her clansmen when she wanders through the streets with Tobirama Senju at her side, but she tries to ignore them.

There’s no conversation, even though she has a setting suspicion that he’s  _trying_ to furnish one. She starts thinking about how funny it all seems. The Senju, so feared in war. Tobirama for his cunning nature on the battlefield, for his dexterity and quickness. Now he’s there, pretending to admire nearby buildings to avoid conversation with her. She would laugh if she wasn’t convinced it would start an argument.

When they arrive at the library, she realizes she hasn’t stepped foot inside of the place for far too long. She only frequents the village’s main library, and always with Madara at her side. That’s one of the most obvious differences—walking in and watching Tobirama take the farthest seat away from her, as if proximity is to be avoided at all costs. He even persists his silence, offering no casual repartee. It’s not what she’s used to, and not what she expected.

Eventually, she caters to her curiosity and boldly asks about the arrangements being made with daimyo, and reluctantly, Tobirama explains the situation, mostly prattling on about Hashirama’s impetuous enthusiasm, which she doesn’t mind. If slandering his brother is an outlet for his irritation, she won’t stop him, even if somewhere deep down, she feels guilty for allowing jovial, good-natured Hashirama to be shamed so freely. She  _should_  be coming to his defense, but Tobirama looks more relaxed as he continues. The calm is infectious, and she finds herself smiling more often than not.

Along the way, the conversation shifts, and they’re suddenly arguing about something completely off topic. Yet she notices for the first time, it’s a harmless dispute more than anything.

He’s convinced that beyond the valley where the village is settled, there’s no closer stream for fresh water than one that runs parallel to the village. Which means the capacity will become scarce if the entire populace depends on that alone. Any outside source of water is much too far, and requires an unnecessary commute that they can’t afford. And she’s convinced they can afford it, swearing by the fact there was indeed another source of water nearby. It leads to her searching for a map among the hundreds of scrolls stocked in the library.

“It’s here somewhere,” she says, sifting through the highest possible shelf, standing on the highest possible step of a dangerously aged ladder.

Tobirama is ridiculously nervous, for whatever reason. Like he’s watching a toddler waddle too close to the pointed edge of a table. Before he knows it, he’s standing at the foot of the ladder, waiting tentatively.

“Don’t you keep anything organized in here,” he mutters, glancing around at the shelves. "Nothing is in order. How do you find anything?”

“I manage. Besides, we’re still in the process of stocking it with all of our records.” And suddenly, the slit of her dress slips down her bent leg, leaving her thigh much too exposed.

He stares, much longer than he cares to admit, before shutting his eyes and turning away. “It seems impossible to function,” he says.

“Why do you think I settle for the public library?”

He frowns at the tease of a counter, but says nothing, too occupied with pacifying his thoughts.

“Here it is.”

She rises on her toes for the reach, then pulls out a scroll by her very fingertips. In the blink of an eye, as she descends the ladder, her foot misses one step by an inch, and she’s slipping.

Natural of a kunoichi, she catches herself just as quickly as she falls, but not before he reacts.

Were they in battle, his agile and intuitiveness would have proven admirable. But his quick reaction apparently serves no benefit. When he reaches out to catch her, he grabs what’s right in front of him, with no thought at all.

She doesn’t even realize the firm grip planted on her ass is Tobirama’s hand, not until he recoils just as swiftly. She goes stiff and doesn’t move. She hears his futile attempt at an apology, then he goes completely silent.

All she wants to do is laugh, but she can’t. That wouldn’t be fair to him.

When she climbs down the steps and turns to face him, she finds that he’s much more flustered than she is, arms crossed, stance rigid, refusing to look at her. She’s about to say something, but he beats her to it.

“Can I see?”

“I’m sorry?”

He holds out his hand. “The map.”

She comes back to reality with a muddled  _oh,_  and hands him the scroll.

He returns to his seat almost immediately, and as soon as he’s out of sight, she clasps a hand over her mouth and smirks. It’s almost enough entertainment to subdue the pressures of clan and village drama that constantly beat down on her. She doesn’t compose herself until he’s impatiently calling for her and insisting that they return to their work.

She goes to the table, choosing the seat closest to him this time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

During their midday break, they visit the academy. His team is there, along with a group of other students she doesn’t recognize. They’re training and sparring, but mostly goofing around.

She glances at Tobirama as they stand by and watch. He looks pleased, for once.

On the way there, and for the duration of the time since their little  _incident_ , he hadn’t been able to look her in the eyes. He still won’t, in fact. She finds it oddly amusing, though maybe a little ridiculous. But she can forgive it, for the time being. The genuine smile on his face as he watches his students compensates for the cold demeanor.

She joked with him once and told him how much nicer he looked when he wasn’t brooding. And he had responded, of course, with a brooding frown. But looking at him now, with his uncharacteristically soft and relaxed expression, it’s undeniably true.

It was what she imagined a village to look like. Standing with a Senju, watching children of different clans cavort with one another. Peaceful. Comforting.

Then it’s swept away.

Hashirama makes his approach known with that distinguishable, exuberant voice of his. “Tobirama!” he grins, then notices her at his side. “Ah, what are you two doing here?” His presence would normally be a jovial addition to the fine moment, but it’s who trails him that throws anxiety back into her body.

As soon as he sees her, Madara’s disposition too seems to change. It goes unnoticed only by Hashirama, who falls into conversation with Tobirama as he comes to his brother’s side.

Luckily, Madara remains near Hashirama, and the Senju brothers serve as a strong barrier between her and the Uchiha. Yet all it takes is a swift glance across them to confirm that he’s staring at her.

In the blink of an eye, she returns her focus to the training children, though it’s impossible to shake the weight of his gaze.

She looks to Tobirama for help, hoping she can intervene on his conversation in an effort to distract her from the grievous anxiety, but no such look. Naturally, he seems to be chastising Hashirama for something she can’t quite decipher. When she confirms that they’ll likely remain occupied with their own dilemmas, she tests her fortitude, glancing over once again and hoping to find that Madara has abandoned his severe scrutiny.

Still, he glowers. It’s then she understands tenacity won’t help her.

She clears her throat just loud enough to put a pause to whatever protest Hashirama had for Tobirama’s scolding. “I have more business to attend to with my clan heads,” she speaks. “You’ll have to excuse me, I think I should head back now.”

“Of course,” Hashirama smiles. “I hope my brother hasn’t taken up too much of your time.”

“No, of course not. The fault is mine, actually. I just lost track of time. I have work to do.”

Tobirama’s eyes narrow imperceptibly. He knows that’s not true. When he had inquired earlier about her schedule, she made it quite clear that she had no matters to attend to, the reason she had been so accepting of their academy discussions in the first place. He knows there’s something amiss.

As she leaves, Madara calls her name quietly in passing, and speaks to her under his breath.

Tobirama is the only one outside of the pair to notice, but he doesn’t hear what the Uchiha is saying, no matter how he strains to listen. Hashirama has returned to his prattling, and it’s impossible to drone out that zealous voice.

Nevertheless, Tobirama gathers it’s not a pleasant exchange. He doesn’t like the apprehension that pools into her features as the Uchiha speaks down to her.

All that Tobirama hears is her response. In a clipped, low voice, she answers him,

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

Then she’s gone.


	4. Chapter 4

She moves her general directly into a compromising spot. An amateur mistake. With a simple move, he adds it to his captured pieces.

“You’re not thinking this through,” Madara murmurs.

She doesn’t reply.

She should be drawing back rather than advancing. If it were gall and confidence making her moves so impulsive, he might have been able to admire it a little, maybe enjoy it. But he doesn’t admire her mindlessness.

They would usually play on days their workload was at a low. Now, the mundane comfort that shogi is meant to offer is replaced by prolonged silence. They both know normality is a far reach at that point.

Not that she can boast at a winning streak, or any winning of any kind when it came to playing Madara, but she usually presents compensation in the form of a decent challenge. But it’s hardly satisfying for him now.

When he had asked her outside the academy if she planned to come to the library, it had been completely antagonistic in nature, just meant to remind her that he was aware of her little ruse to evade him, and that he didn’t find it at all entertaining.

_Fine. I’ll be there._

Words spoken with such bitterness, but the conviction to validate those words did not reach her face. He could see the unease swimming in her eyes. The same unease he assumes keeps her in the constant, annoying state of equivocation, where all she does is avoid him.

She puts one of her generals back into play, but it’s by no means a calculated move. He doesn’t comment that time, only moves a piece to counter it. At that point he’s certain he could wear a blindfold and she would still pose no better a challenge.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” She looks at the board without seeing it. No amount of strategizing will do anything for her. She just needs to bide her time away from his scrutiny. 

“Look at me.”

She stiffens. Then after a moment’s hesitation, obeys.

His eyes are dark, unforgiving. “You were very clear when you told me that your absence was a result of work. Nothing else. That what happened between us did not trigger this behavior. ”

So, he’s not going to beat around the bush. “Maybe it’s just taken me time to understand.” She looks away from him then, unable to hold the thick gaze.

His eyes narrow. “Understand what?”

“What you’re doing.”

She moves one of her pieces again, to a much more perceptive place. Sharpness surged by swelling frustration, he assumes. How interesting.

“Then tell me what I’m doing.” He puts his next piece down with punctuated force, and she looks at him. 

“I think you’re just antagonizing me.”

He scoffs arrogantly. “If you’re still referring to that day after the academy meeting, then forgive me if I didn’t convey my intentions correctly. My plan was not to antagonize you.”

She scowls, but shivers when a ghost of his touch slides across her thighs, like his hands never left. There’s even a blush on her cheeks as she thinks carefully about his words. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. You can’t stand that I’m on good terms with the Senju now, can you?”

He wins the game, again. With no lament of defeat, she stands from her seat and moves over to a bookshelf. Anything to get away from his deep glare.

“Interesting theory,” he says. “Then would it be fair of me to assume you’re more frequently collaborating with them on purpose?”

“Why would I be doing it on purpose?”

“To antagonize  _me_ , perhaps. Or to prove me wrong about everything I’ve told you. Why else choose to mend a broken bond with  _Tobirama_ , of all people?”

“I’m just discussing policies with him,” she says as she idly searches book titles, “and assisting when necessary.”

“ _Assisting,”_ he scoffs _._  “Don’t you think you’re being a little too generous? Given that he did next to nothing for you and your clan when you needed it most.”

“That’s not true,” she insists. And the defensive tone surprises her. 

She realizes then that Madara isn’t aware of the negotiating Tobirama facilitated between the Shimura and Sarutobi, all for the sake of accommodating her clan. She hadn’t disclosed that fact, not previously. And something tells her she shouldn’t at all. He would probably refute it, and convince her that Tobirama had ulterior motives, that it wasn’t genuine. She’s half-afraid she would believe him. 

But he’s impressed, nonetheless. "Oh no? Then tell me how magnanimous and understanding he was.”

She doesn’t like the way it’s spoken with such condescension. “Forget it, Madara.”

“Do you know what he plans to do with your clan?”

She looks at him now, eyes narrowed. “What?”

Glad he’s caught her attention, he doesn’t beat around the bush. “Your clan is not contributing to the academy. Not as much as Tobirama would like, at least. He will not stand for that. You get what you put in, that’s how he sees it. Because you will not sacrifice your resources, your clan loses out on opportunities in the academy.”

“What are you talking about?” she counters automatically, as if it were ridiculous. But it reels her in, nonetheless. She carefully returns to the table, drawn in by his words.

“Think about it.”

And she does. What he’s implying certainly is by no means unfathomable, but would Tobirama do that to her? After they had finally managed to appease tension? After she started  _trusting_  him? 

She looks at him. “Are you doing it again?” she asks.

Annoyance sharpens his features. “Am I doing what?”

“Trying to instigate me.”

“Of course I am,” he says with no hesitance whatsoever. “So you clear your mind and start thinking straight. But what I’m saying is no lie. He gives privilege to clans that conform to his needs. Your clan does not. Therefore, your rights to in village are limited. Ask him yourself.”

“Is that what you want? A confrontation? To create more tension between the Senju and my clan?”

“No,” he grunts sharply. “That’s not what I want.”

He stands from the table and walks to her. After so many chilling and unnerving encounters, she wants to step away. But she’s swept up in confusion and concern. She doesn’t even flinch when he comes close to her. 

“I want you to know what exactly you’re getting yourself into by trusting him.”

“I know what I’m getting myself into, Madara. Don’t act like I’m naive.”

“You  _are_  if you trust him.”

She scowls. “By what he’s told me, I shouldn’t be trusting  _you_  either.”

“So that’s what he’s been doing? Filling your head with—”

“No. That’s not what he’s doing.” She sounds exasperated. “If anything,  _you_  are the one trying to manipulate me and fill my head with lies.” 

He remains silent when she says that. For what reason, she doesn’t know. But the air is subdued then, still lingering with distinct tension, but the aggression weathers away. 

“I don’t want to argue with you,” she continues. “Don’t do this again. You’re only stirring tension where it doesn’t need to be stirred.” It isn’t what she wants. It was never what she wanted. To be so combative every time she was with him, when she truly considered him to be one of, if not her closest companions… It didn’t feel right. “Where is this coming from, Madara? Is it just because I’ve been spending time with Tobirama? Is that really it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he snaps. It’s the truth. He doesn’t care to deny it. “In the beginning you  bore the brunt of Tobirama’s negligence. For  _weeks_ on end, all you did was complain. And now? To put faith in him? To open yourself and your clan to disaster so easily?” Something changes in him, something dark and morbid. She can see it in his face, in his eyes. “Every clan, yours included, cannot be expected to relinquish all resentment from decades of war. It’s just not possible. You see the tension that surrounds us. Are we supposed to just forget? How can you be so trusting?”

“How can you be so doubtful? I was always cautious, Madara. You don’t think I felt the same way about the Uchiha when we first joined the village?” Her eyes plead with him, though she wonders if it will do any good now that they’re both so passionate about their conflicting beliefs. “Don’t think I didn’t. Because I did. Then I met you. Here. In this very library. And when we spoke for the first time, you were kind to me, and nothing like I expected. I learned to trust you. Just as I have learned to trust Tobirama.”

He scowls and scoffs, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “Even after what I’ve told you? That he plans to punish your clan for not yielding to his demands?”

“How do I know that’s the truth, Madara?”

“You really think I would lie to you?”

“To aggravate me? Yes. You even admitted it yourself. That’s all you’re doing, trying to antagonize me.”

“I would not steer you in the wrong direction,” he snaps. “But he will. And when your clan is facing the consequences of your naivety—”

“You’re not concerned with my clan,” she says sharply. “Or me.” The bands that held her anger together break under his ignorance. “This is just part of your own agenda, using me for your animosity. You’re not doing this for my benefit.”

“Then for whose?” he counters angrily. “Mine?”

“Who else?” She sounds afflicted. And in the tangle of emotions suddenly attacking her, she reaches for whatever counter she can, and regrets it immediately.

“Is this because of your brother?” she says. “Is this for Izuna? Has it been for him  _all_  this time? Some twisted desire to avenge him—”

A hand twists into her collar and pushes her back roughly against the shelves, hard enough to knock scrolls loose from their place and tumble to the floor.

“Do  _not_  bring Izuna into this.” 

His voice is threatening and cold, cold as the pits of his dark, intense eyes.

The sting of impact floods her back, but it’s not the pain that’s disconcerting, not the fact that he physically acted out on the aggression. It’s the pure malice in his words. It’s the first time he’s raised his voice to her like that. 

She would twist away from his grip, but her veins are ice cold, her body unresponsive. She imagines that it’s exactly what it must have felt like to fall to Madara Uchiha in battle. It must be the same sense of urgency, the same dread. He might as well have a kunai pressed to her throat.

Seeing her like this, anxious, frightened, looking at him as though he’s the enemy, the way  _everyone_  looks at him… it disgusts him. His grip subsides, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand flattens and gently rests against her collar bone, like the tender contact will atone for what he’s done.

She peers up at him, expectant but frightened. Imperceptible tremors run through her body, which he feels under his palm. He closes his eyes and gathers his thoughts. He doesn’t want to apologize. Not for his intentions. He  _might_  apologize for his emotions, since for the first time, he realizes what she’s done to him.

In the beginning, he admittedly toyed with her emotions, though not for malevolent reasons. It had only been out of a need to gauge her temperament and her judgement, toward the Senju, mostly. Toward Tobirama. It was all so much easier when he thought she shared the same ill will toward the man. Now, Madara is painfully aware that she doesn’t. Not anymore. He’s losing her to the Senju. Just like he lost his brother.

But it appears that nothing he said would change her mind. The cycle of frustration and pain and desire would only continue. Nothing could be done about it.

“Do whatever you please,” he says finally. And he walks away. 

There’s no ultimatum. No threat. No admonition. All things she had come to expect. Now whatever tie they had stands irrefutably cut. She can feel it, can feel the depravity as he grabs his belongings and departs.

“Madara,” she tries to plead. But there’s no reply, not even a parting glance.

The comfort leaves with him, and she feels alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you need anything from me, ______-san?”

“No. You’re free to leave. Thank you for sorting these scrolls for me.” She waves the assistant off, wishing he would just go away, but the young man looks unconvinced. It’s only after she gives him an earnest, regrettably forceful look that he bows and leaves. Then she turns back to her work.

The suspicions Madara implanted in her mind had been supplemented in a matter of days. She’s dubious. Dubious, worried, anxious—and  _almost_  convinced of Tobirama’s plot. 

It started directly after her altercation with the Uchiha, when she wandered over to the Senju office. She couldn’t think straight. She just needed to be somewhere else, and found the promise of being with Tobirama, or even Hashirama, for that matter, compelling her toward their side of the village.

When she arrived, it was a relief to see the younger Senju sitting at Hashirama’s desk. Comfort found her, in a desperate, cynical sort of way.

 _“I’m conducting a meeting soon with two clan heads. We’re discussing the academy,”_  he had said when he saw her.

They had discussed the academy with advisors before, but never with the private audience of a clan head, not since the initial meeting. She had been excited at the idea, hopeful that they could offer more to their cause now that higher-ups were involved.

 _“Alone,”_  he had clarified as soon as he saw the eager smile on her face.

Even now, she remembers the awful sting in her body as a flood of uncertainty hit her, shattering the denial she had built since hearing Madara spew his libel. 

Usually, she would have argued and inquired as to why she could not attend the meeting. Did he not know that she would be interested in what the clan heads had to say? Especially when she had been collaborating with him all this time? They were both advisors. He had no higher authority than her that dictated whether she should be involved or not. It was insulting. She had every reason to question him.

Yet she did nothing of the sort. She just apologized, an uncharacteristic gesture he didn’t seem to catch, and left. 

Then the next day, an envoy had come to her home with an offhand message from Tobirama, simply stating that he would be busy, occupied with more meetings that he needed to settle on his part. And that it would be best if she left him to his work.

A clear statement. She needed to keep away. She was not invited, or wanted.

Is this how he would do it? she thought. How he planned to move her out of the picture? Tobirama had yet to call on her clan heads to hold any sort of discussion pertaining to the academy. Not just that, but through the hours spent planning and brainstorming, he had not mentioned her clan’s involvement once. Madara’s words seemed truer with every cumulative thought.

Of course, she could write it off as an unnecessary discussion. The fact she collaborated with him at all surely meant he was keeping her clan in mind. Yet what prompted him to exclude her from his meetings? Why had he not requested an audience with her clan heads like the others? Did that really mean that he planned to penalize her clan…? No. It couldn’t be. It was just Madara’s words twisting her rationality.

But the idea of not knowing the complete truth hinders her concentration, and the Uchiha’s voice at the back of her mind persists as a reminder of the unknown.

One of her assistants is suddenly calling to her and kneeling outside the room, waiting for entry. She accepts, and the young girl who looks crossly disheveled doesn’t look her in the eyes. 

“Madara Uchiha wishes to speak with you,” she whispers. “He asked to be escorted here.”

Her mind draws blank. She would prepare herself for whatever it was he sought out, but she doesn’t see the point in guessing. If there’s anything she’s learned from Madara, it’s that he’s unpredictable.

She tells the girl to let him in, and waits in fretful anticipation. With a slide of the door, the Uchiha is there standing in front of her.

It’s silent.

She watches him closely for any signs of acrimony, but there are none. He spares only an expectant, but impatient glance to the young assistant that shadows him.

The woman understands immediately, and dismisses the girl. “Thank you. Go home now. It’s getting dark.”

This assistant is much more obedient than the last, likely unsettled by Madara’s strong presence. She forces herself to bow, then scurries away, leaving them alone at last.

His calm is remarkable, but inside, a swirl of emotions he hasn’t quite tethered. He hadn’t considered what he would say to her, only that he needed to say something. Hours of enduring the waves of regret and anxiety crashing over his train of thought, and he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I leave today,” he begins, almost methodically, “to meet with the daimyo. With Hashirama.”

She nods slowly. “I know.”

“I need to explain something,” he begins, hesitantly. But earnestly, nevertheless. "What I said that day. I was irrational. Paranoid, as of late. It was wrong of me.” That morning, he had taken some of those same fears and unleashed them onto Hashirama. 

This visit to the daimyo would finalize the village as a permanent settlement in the Land of Fire. It should have been a good thing to be progressing like they were. Finally, their childhood dream would come to fruition.

But he couldn’t see it that way. Not when he could still feel the friction between clans. Not when Tobirama was already moving to cause strife. It pushed him to the edge of doubt, and triggered a long suppressed outrage.

Hashirama had been unprepared for his friend’s anger. Fortunately, an argument that took the better part of the day finally put Madara at ease. Hashirama may not have been a diplomat at heart, but all he had to do was remind Madara of what the village stood for, of the violence and mayhem that could be avoided by uniting the shinobi world, and the Uchiha yielded.

The reluctance Madara felt is no longer potent. It still remains, however, somewhere in the depths of his heart. He expects it won’t be the last debate he and Hashirama have about the matter.

But for now, he knows how agonizing those doubts can be. The possibility—more like  _fact_ —that he left her agonized in the same way, and for so long, is what brings him to her. To alleviate the dilemma, because he knows it’s his fault.

"I want this village to work.”

He hadn’t anticipated her voice to be so soft, so vulnerable, so hesitant. It makes the searing guilt even worse.

"So do I.” Despite the complications. Despite the doubt. He really does. “I want it to work.”

“But it can’t if you keep acting this way,” she adds, and immediately, his civil composure threatens to fall. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, trying to persevere as she goes on. “You need stop trying to fill my head with lies that will get me into trouble, Madara.”

He steps closer to her, through the door until he’s fully inside of her home, all in one swift motion.

She doesn’t realize how close he is until her feet hit the wall and he’s in front of her, solemn, tense, determination swimming in his charcoal eyes. “I am not lying. The only thing I’m trying to do is help you.“

He’s so close that her scent floods him. That tint of warm sugar and fresh flowers that has always seemed so calming and pleasant to his senses. He reaches out to touch her face, and she stills. She never realized how large and slender his hands were, fingers stretching along her cheeks to caress her lightly in an effort of apology.

She stares fretfully over his shoulder, outside the open door where the sun is peeking out above the trees surrounding the village, descending for the night. If anyone were to come across the compromising situation, it would be difficult to conjure an explanation. 

“I know,” is all she says. 

There’s nothing else she can think of to subdue the rising pressure. She understands what he means. But she can’t accept it. Maybe it’s because she can’t abandon the progress she’s made, or what she  _thought_  she had made so far, with the village, and with Tobirama. 

There are no changes in his expression. He examines her. Her eyes, her lips, her hair. Everything. Like he’s focused on nothing else but drinking up the sight of her, accepting the pain he had brought her, owning the regret.

“Did you ask him?”

Her eyes return to him, confused, but she thinks she knows. “What?”

“Tobirama,” he clarifies, voice so soft and quiet she doesn’t recognize it as his. “Did you ask him about his plans?”

Then she’s looking away again, reminded of the suspicion that has persecuted her all this time. She doesn’t want it to be true. 

“No.”

“Ask him,” he says, retracting and staring down at her, almost expressionless. “You deserve to know.”

She only stares, and he doesn’t waver from her gaze, letting her swallow down the severity of his words. It’s by no means deceit. He’s honest. He’s doing it for her. She thinks she realizes that now.

And when he pulls away and leaves, the dismay returns, like his presence kept her grounded. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~

There are footsteps approaching from outside the door, but Tobirama is hardly in the mood to be disturbed.

“Who is it?” he calls before they can even announce themselves.

It better not be Hashirama. His elder brother was already late to the congregation at the head of the village where he was meant to depart on his trip, yet he had come to wish his younger brother farewell just a few minutes prior.

“Me,” the firm voice comes from the other side of the door.

Definitely something Hashirama would say, Tobirama thinks, but it’s not his brother.

She doesn’t wait for permission. She walks in, and he only offers her a glance of acknowledgement before returning his attention to the scroll in his hands, surprisingly unruffled by her lack of courtesy.

“The amount of people who come into this office and I’m expected to know who ‘ _me_ ’ is?”

“Yet you still let me enter.” She moves to the edge of the desk and draws her eyes over the heap of scrolls. “Besides, you’re a sensor.”

"I’m not charging chakra every second of the day. I shouldn’t have to.”

“That makes it even easier to sneak up on you, then.”

He tries to glare at her, but it comes across as a harmless, fatigued frown. He’s thoroughly weary from all the work on his plate, but that’s suddenly no longer his primary concern. He can’t concentrate on his own demeanor when hers is pressing his curiosity.

He hadn’t seen her once since he practically dismissed her from his presence before his academy meetings, something he regrets deeply. The calm when she left Hashirama’s office that day had been palpable. Suspiciously palpable. Which is what led Tobirama to sit and brood far longer than he cared to admit, trying to understand what could have possibly extinguished her normally fiery attitude. It made little sense that she would settle so easily with being barred from his academy discussions, no matter how gently he had tried to let her down.

Over the past weeks, there came a sinking realization that their intimate interactions would boil skepticism from others at some point. Tobirama is convinced that the key to harmonizing the village is equal discretion; favoring one clan over the other would not encourage that. It was for that exact reason he had chosen to subtly exclude her from his discussion with the clan heads, and even sent an envoy to suggest that they forgo on their seeing each other again the following day.

It had all been for the sake of discretion. Nothing else. He assumed that she wanted attention drawn to them no more than he did, and that precaution was necessary. Had she questioned him, he would have gladly explained that. But when he received no reply to his message, he knew she was likely offended. Which is why it’s so curious that he can’t find a single trace of solicited hostility in her expression now. Not even in her voice. 

She’s too calm. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

"Are these for the academy?” she asks, running her hands along the strewn scrolls.

He says nothing, but passes one over to her.

“Hashirama will have to build this, no doubt,” she notes as she examines the paper. Blueprints for expanding academy grounds, she thinks. "After he’s worn himself from the village’s infrastructure, you don’t think this is too much for him?”

“He will work with whatever I give him. He’s intrigued by the prospect of the academy, anyway. If I have to do all the administrative work, he can suffer a little manual labor.”

"And the Uchiha?” she asks, biting her tongue as soon as she says it. A stupid impulse that spills from her mouth only as impatience takes over. 

Tobirama’s ability to hide his emotions is excellent when he wants it to be, but she notices the slight tug of his lips into a frown. "What about them?”

“I don’t think I ever asked. What are they planning to contribute? Will they have something to do with the academy? ”

He stops reading and exhales heavily, like he’s annoyed. “Of course they will.”

“Are you sure?”

Now he looks at her, furrowing his brows in suspicion. “Madara agreed to assist, and thereby, his clan will have input… Why are you asking? Did he send you here to pry?”

“He didn’t send me to do anything. He and I were just discussing the academy recently, and I realized you and I hadn’t spoken about his plans. That’s all.”

It’s that complacency in her demeanor that he does not like. Not at all. Something is off. “You were with him just now?”

That seems like an obvious question. It had only been a few hours since he had come to her home. Come to clarify, come to… well, whatever else he had hoped to accomplish. 

“Why do you care?” she returns swiftly.

He scowls, and considers lying to snake away from the truth. “I don’t. I only ask that next time, you let me know when you’re consulting with the Uchiha about academy business.”

“The Uchiha,” she echoes quietly, wondering how it can sound so hateful spilling off his tongue like that.

The exasperated tone catches him. “What?”

“Nothing…” And she almost leaves it at that. Because the more she considers it, she doesn’t want to dig any further. Doesn’t want to find out the truth, because she fears what it will evoke. "You just make it seem as though he has no right to involve himself in academy affairs.”

Not this again, Tobirama thinks. “Of course he has a ‘right’,” he argues. “Even if I know he has  _more_  than enough grievances with my agenda. Like I said, he agreed to contribute. He will have a say in academy affairs.” For what seems like the hundredth time, he tries to focus on the last paragraph of the scroll in his hand.

She’s silent after that. Which is odd, he thinks. Usually their mild sparring persists much longer, or at least until it breaks into something more intense. But no, the silence is stretched almost uncomfortably.

She wonders whether she should say it. Madara’s words have been hammering away in her head in an agonizing way. Now it’s all the worse when she’s standing right in front of the accused.

Distress persists, and forces the words out of her. 

“Interesting. Because I need to know why you’re excluding my clan from affairs, even though we’re doing  _everything_  we can to contribute to the academy. Or does your courtesy only extend as far as your mood at the time?”

He visibly stiffens, and slowly raises his gaze to her. “What are you talking about?”

"I thought we were over this, Tobirama.” There’s the bite in her voice that was previously absent. “But I come to find out that you’re displeased with what we can offer you? And because of that, you’re plotting against us?”

“ _Plotting_?” The calm leaves his voice. “You’re the one who said you didn’t have enough resources to contribute.”

“And that means you take away my clan’s opportunity? The children’s opportunities?”

“That is not even  _remotely_  close to what I am doing.”

“Then what is it?”

“The academy will be limited in the beginning, yes, that is true.” He’s trying to be understanding, but he’s never responded well to confrontation. Her belligerence blindsides him, makes him instinctively defensive. “I’m not punishing you for what you can’t offer. There is no penalty for that.”

“Then what would you call it?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. He actually doesn’t know. If he’s being completely honest with himself, a penalty is exactly what he had considered it to be. That had only been on account of the troublesome complaints he had received from many clans. But when it comes to hers, labeling it as something so crooked seems wrong.

“Necessary governance,” he mutters finally, unable to look at her.

“Does Hashirama know about this?” she contends; anger is simmering at the surface.

He frowns. “What does that matter?”

“I can’t imagine your brother would let something like this happen. He’s too kind. Too considerate. Too concerned for the well-being of this village.”

“And you think I’m not?”

“You’re just focused on molding the village’s authority to your liking. You’re forcing us into contributing and punishing those who don’t adhere to what you want, Tobirama. This is supposed to be a unified village. You can’t treat people like this… Madara was right.” The exasperation subsides an entire level when she thinks about the Uchiha, about the way his fingers caressed her face. She had been wrong to doubt him.

“What do you mean?” he inquires, anger replaced by frustrating curiosity.

“He told me about this. He told me what you were planning." 

His face twists into something worse than a scowl. “What  _exactly_  did he tell you?”

“It doesn’t matter what  _exactly_  he told me. He couldn’t have possibly made it any worse than it is. I thought I could trust you. But all you’re doing is scheming for your own benefit. For yourself.”

“For myself?” He stands from his chair.

“Of course you are!“ Her voice transcends a volume she’s not used to, and her heart pounds at the audacity. "And if not for yourself, then for your clan. Not for the village. You preach about village prosperity, but that only applies if it’s under your conditions. This is exactly like it was in the beginning. You’re narrow-minded, and inconsiderate. I trusted you, Tobirama.” She sounds hurt, and he hears it. Then her tone welcomes malice once again. “But you don’t deserve my trust.”

The way ire thickens around her is probably enough to silence anyone. That sharp pain of disappointment in her voice, completed by an edge of regret. Her fiery glare, so close to him now that she’s leaned closer, puts him on edge.

But Tobirama is silent. He can’t fully comprehend what he’s just heard. No one has ever spoken to him like that. 

His expression softens to a bleak, listless frown. Even his voice is unexpectedly calm. “Is that really what you think?”

Her tone is agitated, still marred by the intensity of her outburst. She’s almost disappointed that she received such a lenient reaction. “Yes.”

A closer examination reveals his true sentiment. It’s like pure indignation burning in his scarlet eyes, hot emotion twisting into his features. Some part of her is intimidated, but it’s a part she can’t welcome right then.

He should hate her for coming to such audacious conclusions. Mostly because they’ve been devised by Madara. He had suspect as much all along. If anyone else had done this to him, if anyone else had spoken to him with such lawless impudence… well, he would hold nothing back. 

But now, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do.

The fervor in her expression hasn’t disappeared. The furrow of her brows betrays anger and poses what he notices for the first time now as uncertainty. Uncertainty and confusion and pain.

It’s then that he becomes aware of just  _how_  close they are, only a few inches more and they would touch. Hands, body, or lips. 

His heart quickens its pace at the notion. He doesn’t know why the idea intrudes his thought process, especially when he’s searing with enough anger to choke her. He can’t handle it any longer.

"Get out,” he mutters, voice filled with a threat that he can’t form into words.

"No.” It doesn’t deter her, even if she is unsettled by the tone. It gets under his skin, she can see it in the way his face tightens into a hard scowl. "I’m tired of this, Tobirama. I’m tired of constantly wondering whether you’re going to go behind my back and—”

“I’m not going to tell you again,” he says angrily. “Get _out._ ”

“I’m not leaving.”

They’re still so close, so close she can hear the frustration in his shallow breaths. And now, he doesn’t bother hiding it. He’s staring at her lips. She can see it. He knows she can. Somehow, she finds her eyes drawn to his own lips, lips set in a thin, angry line. 

Through all the rage, she feels a drowning hope. Hope that the happiness and companionship she found in him would still be alive. That his schemes, lawful in foundation or not, wouldn’t ruin what they had. But she knows better. Feelings of sad warmth take over her, and she realizes how weak she becomes in the face of their turmoil. 

Eyes still on his lips, her breath catches when he dips his head down. She prepares herself, feels her heart stop, but he doesn’t do it.

He just lowers his head, and shuts his eyes in an attempt to gather his wits. A passion he doesn’t understand courses through him in defeat.

“Leave.”

It’s difficult to readjust her concentration, especially when her body is still filled with some odd, fluttering warmth. 

“No,” she manages.

He withdraws quickly, grabs a stack of scrolls and makes to leave, but she moves to block his path. He has half a mind to move her, but he doesn’t want to touch her.

“Don’t run away from this, Tobirama.“ She knows what she’s doing is completely reckless, and that the repercussions will be dire. But she can’t hold back. She didn’t come so far to receive no closure. The confusion and misplaced trust eats at her without fail. Who is she supposed to believe? "I can’t handle this anymore. This uncertainty and this distrust. I need to know  _why_.  _Why_  are you doing this?”

His face falls in anger. “Why trust the word of that Uchiha?!” He’s yelling now, right in her face. He’ll regret his volatile temper later, but it’s his defense against the bubbling anxiety in his chest.

“Stop saying that,” she protests. “He’s been more help than you have, Tobirama. He’s been honest, and genuine—”

“Don’t call him  _honest_ ,” Tobirama seethes. “If you weren’t so obsessed with him, then you would see he’s anything but honest.”

“I  _trust_  him. If not for him, I wouldn’t have even known about this little plot of yours. I would have made a fool of myself, hoping that you would take my wishes into consideration. I had to find out from him… Why is that?”

“You would see Madara for what he really is if you would just clear your head, if you weren’t so absorbed in this  _misconstrued_  idea of him.” Tobirama feels like he’s speaking to his brother. An endless argument that neither of them can ever win. But with her, it’s much more frustrating. 

“Is this still about Madara?… Why, Tobirama?” She steps toward him, too close for comfort, but he doesn’t draw back. “You never gave me a clear answer when I asked you. Why do you hate him so much? Why are you punishing me now for finding a friend in him?”

He scoffs in disgust. “You’re gullible.” The intent of his words is earnest, but the spite isn’t. He would say her logic is twisted, but it makes sense. He hates to admit it. But it does. 

He tries to side step and move to the door, the only destination that seems safe at the moment. She presses a hand against his chest and pushes him back. That’s when his self-restraint teeters.

 _“Why?”_  she pleads, desperately now. He can see it in her eyes, can feel it in the way her fingers tighten just slightly into the fabric of his shirt. “Tell me why.”

He doesn’t answer, only glares at her. 

Attempting to step by her again proves to be a fatal mistake. A disgruntled, frustrated protest, and her hands shove at his chest,  _hard_. Instinctively, he snatches her wrists before she can set upon him again, and all at once an endless tangle of emotion and tension and exasperation snaps like a coil.

 _“Because_! _”_ he yells down at her. “I don’t trust him not to hurt you. I—”

Common sense returns to him just in time. He reads the flash of astonishment and confusion on her flushed face, and briefly shuts his eyes, trying to figure out what the hell he’s just done.

And then there’s silence. He wishes the earth would swallow him up, make him disappear.

What does she say to that? Does she follow the scorn that lingers, and reprimand him? His outburst makes that impossible. She can’t even bother to wrench her hands out of his grip.

She swallows, but finds her throat dry. “That’s—”

“Enough. It doesn’t matter.” 

He lets go of her, doesn’t even look at her as he moves to the door. “You and your clan will have anything you need for the academy. There will be no more complications.”

Then he leaves, slamming the door behind him. 

An odd, unshakable pain of separation grips her. One that has her losing sleep every night for weeks on end.


	5. Chapter 5

Village tensions are eased internally, but external threats prove to be just as troublesome. Madara suspects it’s because other congregations of clans are following the village’s example and allying, not just out of some grasp for progress, but to combat their fears. 

The Senju and Uchiha alliance alone is enough to stir apprehension in any enemy, but now with more than half a dozen clans filing into their village, it would be an unprecedented, formidable military power to utilize if war ever snaked its way back into the world. It’s only natural the village would have opposition. Squads of shinobi have been discovered lurking on the outskirts of the village, no doubt executing recon missions, and sightings are only increasing.

Madara argues with Hashirama often about the growing problem. The Senju is convinced it will all die down once the village is truly established in the eyes of the fire country. He even suspects they can bring together these opposing villages to furnish peace on a wider scale. Madara disagrees, but arguing with him is a futile task. It always has been. 

So he has to let go of his friend’s naivety in favor of enjoying what’s actually going well. And Madara will admit, there’s much to be thankful for. 

The academy is established, for one. If there’s one thing he’ll give to Tobirama, it’s his diligence. Children were learning the ways of a shinobi in less harrowing ways than what he had endured as a child. It seems to be functioning relatively well. 

Teams were being formed, businesses were plentiful, everything fit into place. But the daimyo continues to send more and more requests that need to be answered, which only invites more concerns. Madara can only hope the craze will wash away soon.  

Numerous scrolls lay unrolled before him. Affairs that require his attention, affairs that he’s admittedly put off these past weeks. He’s unable concentrate. He sits in his home, in his living room, on the patio, in the garden. The change of scenery offers him no solace. The mere idea of more political work exhausts him.

He has the distinct urge to walk about the village to clear his mind, when there’s suddenly shuffling from the other side of his front door. He knows who it is even before she knocks or addresses herself, and tells her to enter. 

When she slides the door open, he feels ease run through him. All his worries seem to dissipate. “You’re early today.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Please, Tobirama?”

“No.”

Hashirama pouts. “ _I_  would let you do it, if you ever asked me.”

“Enough, brother. You know I am happy for you, but it can’t be afforded.”

“It will be to the village’s benefit,” he pleads, but receives no answer. The pout remains.

Mito is pregnant, again. Not that Tobirama saw anything wrong with that. He truly was quite happy for his elder brother. Hashirama’s first child placed a new fondness in his heart that he hadn’t expected, one he could only name as an uncle’s affection. But Hashirama was considering  _more_  than a few days’ absence to take Mito to the nearest inn to “ _celebrate”_ both the pregnancy and village prosperity. Coupled with the fact that her birthday was also approaching, Hashirama would have a convincing argument if he was pleading to someone with a softer heart, and a more gullible mind.

“Tobirama…” His elder brother looks like a child begging for sweets. 

Tobirama scowls. “You really do want to abandon me with all this responsibility, don’t you, brother?”

“You’ve been making excellent progress, I trust you,” Hashirama protests. “It will only be a few days. I really  _would_  like to establish relations with the nearby inns, just so the people in the village have a getaway, if needed. That, and we’ve been meaning to establish trade routes. Would it not be convenient to have inns bordering those routes? Inns that carry a good rapport with our village?“

Tobirama gives him points for his effort and creativity, but it’s still recreation at the foundation. He might have even condoned it if they didn’t have the daimyo’s demands pressing them into a corner. “At such a critical time like this, you should know better than to keep idling. And I wonder how such a rational woman as Mito would let you get away with these ridiculous ideas.”

“Ah.” Hashirama scratches his chin sheepishly. “That’s because I haven’t spoken to Mito yet. It was meant to be a surprise.”

Annoyed, Tobirama sighs and signs off on a document, one of many he needs to review. He doesn’t have time for his brother’s antics.

Hashirama is beginning to wonder why he even needs permission from his younger brother. He’s the clan head, after all. But he  _does_  want Tobirama’s approval, sensible enough to know that his opposition would stand as the greatest obstacle to his endeavors.

Hashirama knows he’s asking for a lot, but there’s been a picking anxiety at the back of his mind. He feels as if he’s been neglecting his family. He had his daughter with him in the office whenever the opportunity came along, but Mito was always occupied, scrambling to coordinate with her clan and provide supplies and curriculum for the academy. He missed his wife. Was that a crime? 

Hashirama’s bemusement subsides when he notices the dark circles under his brother’s eyes, made worse by his pallid skin.

“You should come with us, Tobirama,” he says automatically. “You should relax a little.”

“Of course,” Tobirama mutters bitterly. “Then no one will be left to maintain order.”

“Don’t be silly, Madara will be here.”

He realizes his mistake immediately. Luckily, Tobirama just exhales heavily, but doesn’t respond. And Hashirama relaxes. “I’m completely serious,” he continues, seeing the opportunity. “Just take a break, come with me and Mito for a few days.”

“I will not tag along while you and your wife enjoy a luxurious vacation together, brother.” It’s difficult to even endure their company when his brother is so loving. He’s always doting on Mito. Frequent kisses and caresses and tender proclamations of affection… He can’t imagine spending a weekend alone with them at the hot springs. It would be nauseating.

“Well then… you could always bring someone with you?”

Tobirama scoffs. “This is not some leisurely holiday I can afford. I’m not going to waste my time, or anyone else’s with something so unnecessary and trivial.”

“Oh?! So there  _is_  someone you could bring?”

Tobirama has an impressive list of all the ways he could reprimand Hashirama right then, but he chooses not to encourage the whimsicality.

Apparently, his silence does that anyway.

“Who is it?” Hashirama pries, smiling. Tobirama suddenly notices that his brother has pushed his chair closer to his. 

He frowns. “There is no one.”

“I think you’re lying, Tobirama.” Now it’s that sly voice that Tobirama hates, because Hashirama only uses it when he  _knows_  he has something to work with. Something to justify his antics. “You’ve always been good at that, but I can tell when you’re hiding something.”

“There is nothing to hide,” Tobirama says, looking right at him.

Objectively, it’s convincing. Even his tone leaves no room for skepticism. But Hashirama has already latched onto the intriguing idea.

Tobirama sees this, and immediately tries to change the subject. “You’re not paying attention to what I am telling you. You  _cannot_  leave until you have reviewed reports and authorized—”

But Hashirama isn’t listening. He’s not even looking at Tobirama anymore, in fact. The stupid grin is still on his face, but there’s curiosity and contemplation brightening his features. “I’m a little hurt you wouldn’t tell me about this earlier, Tobirama.” 

“Brother—” He shoves a scroll into Hashirama’s hands. “Enough of this. I am not joking. You can’t afford to let this spiral out of control.”

“I know! Is it that woman from the tea shop we like? She’s very pretty. Or perhaps… a Yamanaka? You’ve been coordinating with their clan frequently, I noticed. Their blond hair is very nice. Do you like blondes?”

“That’s not it!”

It’s times like these that no amount of volume or heat he adds to his voice will overwhelm Hashirama’s whims. So he’s powerless.

The elder brother hums, pleased with his own notions. “I want a niece or nephew, Tobirama. Preferably soon. The hot springs would be a nice romantic getaway to—”

“ _Fine,_  brother. Go to the damned hot springs,” Tobirama mutters, unable to look his brother in the eye. It feels much too hot in the room right then. “Just finish everything you need to before you go.”

Hashirama admits he’s a little shaken by the pure frustration in his brother’s voice, but he can’t help but chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m only teasing you, Tobirama.” He’s reminded of how fatigued the younger Senju appears, a sight that has unfortunately become standard these days. “You really are wound up too tight. I just wish you would relax.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tobirama says. But the tension written into his hard features says otherwise. “Just please finish what I asked of you.”

Please. Now that’s a tell-tale sign that there’s something more bothering Tobirama, which truly had been a source of anxiety for Hashirama as of late. But he tends to ignore it and fight down the urge to inquire, all in favor of not contending Tobirama’s temper.

Nevertheless, it pains him to do so. Hashirama is certain that Tobirama’s refusal to face internal conflicts only contributes to his stress. If there were a way to help him, Hashirama would do it. But years of ineffectiveness has turned him reluctant. All he can do now is abide and hope it alleviates Tobirama in some way.

“I’ll finish everything,” Hashirama promises. In fact, he gets right to work and grabs a stack of scrolls. “I appreciate it, though. I’m sure Mito will be very happy.”

Tobirama hums, and says nothing else. He’s convinced he would stir another dispute if he did. His mind is too clouded for anything but exasperation most days.

~~~~~~~~~~

Madara would have normally enjoyed these moments the most. When in spite of herself, she laughs so noisily that she covers her mouth with the back of her hand, as though she’s embarrassed. 

She looks relaxed and happy, captivating eyes glimmering in that way he likes so much.

He hardly remembers what he said to solicit it. Humor hadn’t lined his tone, but she somehow found it, perhaps in a desperate attempt to cut through the thick fog of confusing tension that seemed to have her on edge as of late.

He supposes he can’t blame her. They’re both confused. 

She pretends that all is as it should be. She forces a comfort between them that was once there, but he’s come to begrudgingly accept it will remain lost to them. Flickers of doubt cross her face every so often. Almost imperceptible, but he catches it.

The night he had left to see the daimyo, he had every reason to believe that they would never speak again. He returned to the village, accepted the fate he wrought for himself through his own impertinence and arrogance. A mistake that made his blood boil.

And then there she was, knocking on his door one night, requesting to come in. He accepted of course, but even when she sat down comfortably in his living room and sheepishly admitted that she couldn’t handle the tension, that she couldn’t continue to treat him like an enemy, or worse, like he didn’t exist at all—he could tell something was wrong.

Those words sunk into him, warm and invasive. Not because they were a relief to the anxiety he endured, but because she didn’t appear to completely believe in herself. She looked dubious. Ashamed. Perhaps even unconvinced of her own determination.

Nevertheless, to put aside her stubbornness must have been an arduous task. He knew her too well to presume that she decided to make amends without fighting her pride. He could hear the sincerity in her voice, and decipher the pain in her eyes.

He looks at her now the same way he looked at her then. Intent, careful, and intrigued. Intrigued with a frustrating desire he had harbored for too long now. 

She looks at him when she notes the silence, the smallest trace of soft fondness on her features. “What is it?”

He comes out of his memory. She should hardly expect an answer. Or she should at least know he’ll equivocate what he can. He’s never been one to confide, even in her.

“Hashirama asked me the other day why he hasn’t seen you recently.”

The smile falters, and her gaze returns to the scroll in her hands. “What did you tell him?”

“Only that you had been busy.”

“Well, that’s good enough.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “You should come to the office every once in a while. Hashirama easily succumbs to suspicion. It would be good of you to reassure him.”

She shakes her head. “What would my purpose be for visiting?”

“He considers you an acquaintance. A friend, even. He wouldn’t require any purpose.”

Again, she shakes her head, smiling almost sadly. It looks so foreign to the conventionally strong demeanor he always admired. He doesn’t like it. “There’s no need for me to go,” she says.

Madara inwardly sighs, but lets her have her way for the moment.

Her self-isolation served as a reminder that she needn’t rack her mind over anything other than her clan and village prosperity. Only those two responsibilities mattered. She didn’t need to waste her time anywhere else, or on anyone else. 

Madara’s friendship was still well received, however, even if a bit strained. It offered a sense of comfort she found so scarcely these days. The only other source of familiarity came from family. No immediate family. She had none of that left except an aunt and her two children, who encouraged her often to come for dinner or stay the night ever since their clan’s chaotic settlement had been eased. 

The console of family had slipped her mind for so long. Duty had always been priority, to the point that Madara even forgot she had relatives. He had no family left, so he encouraged her to cherish her own. It would mean forgoing on their time together, but for the sake of her well-being and returning her to the confident woman he so admired, he would endure it. It’s a sentiment she appreciates, knowing it comes from the depths of his benevolence. 

She takes one of her young cousins out into the village with that exact sentiment in mind. A stroll gives her the opportunity to admire what structures have been built in her absence, while her young cousin, a girl of six, tugs insistently on her sleeve and excitedly points out whatever happens to catch her frivolous fancy. 

The woman notices new shops that have opened, new streets, new everything. Even a particular flower shop Madara had told her about just the other day. The ambience relaxes her in a way she hadn’t expected. Pacification was not found easily those days, but she would appreciate it for what it was. The succulent smells of food and gentle commotion around her would suffice as a suitable distraction to her uncertainties. 

But suddenly, she hones in on familiar voices. Fearful, her eyes find the source at a dango shop to her right.

Tobirama’s students. The Sarutobi and the girl, Koharu, she thinks her name was, are arguing again. She searches feverishly for their sensei, but he’s nowhere to be found, a relief that quells the sudden racing of her heart. She wouldn’t know how to cope with direct contact.

She’s learned to subdue the unease that accompanies the very mention of his name, but it’s still difficult to endure. She hadn’t spoken to or even seen him since the night in Hashirama’s office. The only trace of him is what remains as fleeting but frequent reminders at the back of her mind that they were on faulty ground. Faulty being an understatement. 

He had kept his promise about the academy, at least. Her clan was provided full admission to utilize it, with no strings attached. Although, she heard that class rooms were stocked to the brim, and the ratio of teacher to student was a large, cumbersome gap, one that would have likely been avoided had Tobirama adhered to his initial plan and limited the amount of students who could attend. She knew it was her fault. She knew he was carrying that burden because of her.

It was a tender thought that at times eased her through the turmoil, but it didn’t recompense his original misdeed. Not at all. She couldn’t find the will to forgive Tobirama, no matter how her conscience pleaded with her. 

Coming back to her senses, she realizes that her cousin has slipped from her grasp.

She turns, but the girl isn’t at her side, nor at any nearby stalls lining the street. Had she really not noticed her slip away? It’s not unlike the girl to get distracted and wander off, but how far could she have gone? 

She wanders back the path they had taken, but the girl is nowhere to be seen. A flare of panic grips her chest. Such a concordant village poses no threat to a lost child, but this child in particular is much too curious for her own good. She could be halfway across the village now, down past their clan neighborhood and near the Sarutobi. Perhaps even farther. 

She searches again, growing flustered and disoriented. The alarm finally sinks in. She abandons composure, and calls out her cousin’s name. People look at her, most ignore her. 

She’s about ready to start asking if anyone has seen a wandering little girl, when she stops. A familiar, small voice is calling out for her. As she turns in relief, her body freezes. 

Tobirama stands a few yards away, carrying her cousin in his arms. Her thoughts crowd with unease and anxiety. Almost enough to override the pure relief to see her little cousin safe. But she remembers the conviction she’s raised over those last few weeks, and knows it would do no good to fall into the familiar cycle of tumult, of not knowing whether she’ll leave their conversation hating him or… whatever the opposite may be. That can’t happen, no matter how their last true encounter still rattles her brain.

Her cousin excitedly shouts her name again and sticks out her hands, reaching for her, waiting for Tobirama comply. He does and approaches. 

He seems calm. Much calmer than she anticipated. Perhaps he let go of what had happened, or he’s at least holding his stoic demeanor for the sake of pride. She doesn’t know which sounds less appealing.

“Where did you run off to?” she scolds the young girl as they approach, not realizing until then how untethered she had been at the possibility of losing her.

The girl says nothing, only pouts sheepishly. “I was just looking at flowers.“

She frowns. Then, finally, she gathers the courage to glance at Tobirama. The nostalgia of his harsh, scarlet eyes makes her feel something unexplainable. 

“She was lost,” he affirms simply, a bit flustered that the little girl is so persistent. She beams up at him with a grin of missing teeth.

He had been headed across the village toward the Yamanaka neighborhood, and in quite the rush. Usually—and it’s unethical to admit—a distraught, lost child would worry him like most others, but he’d leave it to someone else to solve that problem. He hardly had the time to mend mistakes by unperceptive parents. 

But the moment the little girl panicked and cried out for her cousin, cried out a name, one Tobirama knew too well, he was drawn in. If not obligation, then curiosity. He almost left it alone, but couldn’t. 

The girl was still shouting her cousin’s name by the time Tobirama found the determination to approach her, and inquire on the problem.

_“Did you lose your parents?”_

An obvious question that should have been easy to answer, but the girl remained silent. The threat of tears that had previously watered her eyes ceased, but she still appeared quite fearful on account of his towering figure. 

And the apprehension persisted even when he opted to kneel down in front of her and ask his question again. It was only when he forcefully softened his features and held out his hand that she accepted it and explained.

And almost immediately after he offered to search with her, she practically insisted that she carry him.  _“I like to be high,”_  she had said.  _“So I can look too!”_

He obliged, despite the inquisitive looks he received—still  _is_  receiving, in fact. It’s not often that he strolls through the village with a child in his arms in place of paperwork.

He puts the girl down on the ground. She frowns, makes a disappointed huff, but shuffles over to her older cousin. 

“Do not walk away from me like that again,” she reprimands the girl under her breath. There’s that pout again, but she takes her hand in spite of the childish irritation.

If not for the bustling of the village around them, it would be dead silent. Tobirama has his arms crossed, as usual, but his expression isn’t hard or even annoyed, like she might have imagined. He’s about to open his mouth and speak, but she does it first.

“Thank you.”

He would think it wasn’t genuine, but the sincerity resonates in her voice. He’s about to tell her it’s fine, no problem. He was passing through this side of the village anyway. But again, the words don’t leave his mouth.

“I’m hungry,” her cousin whispers, big eyes gleaming up at her with impatience, tugging on her sleeve.

“We just had breakfast, and you’re still hungry?”

She nods and frowns, as if offended by the incredulity.

The woman sighs, understanding that it’s an opportune time to leave, though the idea of parting ways with Tobirama won’t offer the closure she seeks, and staying won’t aid her anxiety. There’s no winning.

All she can do is nod, a supplement to her gratitude. He accepts but offers no reply, and stiffly walks in the other direction, regretting that it’s all he can do, and likely all that he’ll ever be able to do.  

~~~~~~~~~~

Madara lied to her. While he  _did_  partially blame her absence on a busy schedule, he disclosed to Hashirama a few more details. 

As far as Madara knew, the night he left to see the daimyo, she adhered to his request and confronted Tobirama. And of course, exposing the truth was inevitable. She had found out about his insincerely shrewd plan, and had reacted how Madara hoped she would. That was for certain. Whether anything more transpired, Madara didn’t know. 

Curiosity eats at him, but the reason she confined herself to one side of the village is obvious. For whatever reason, she couldn’t afford to run into Tobirama. Madara realizes now that her avoiding him is just as weak as trusting him, but he can’t confront her with that notion, not if he wants to preserve the peace they’ve made. Even if it is incredibly frustrating that she would let Tobirama affect her so much, he has to resist his acrimony.

He shouldn’t have to encourage her to feel welcomed in the place she now called her home. It upsets him. And Hashirama too, evidently. 

“It’s just as I said, Hashirama. It’s difficult to feel involved in such a populous village. It will not be easy for clans to accept integration.”

Hashirama rubs his cheek, frowning ponderously. “But in the beginning, she was so involved in village affairs, and very reliable, too… Why does she feel excluded now? She’s always welcome here. It depresses me, honestly.”

“Everything depresses you.”

“Could there be disarray in her clan? We  _are_  arranging missions now… perhaps they’re scrambling to assign rankings and mobilize shinobi?”

Madara can’t stand his naivety. He has the distinct urge to tell Hashirama that it’s his brother’s fault. That would satisfy him to the brim. 

But as far as Hashirama knew, academy business had run smoothly. Better than any of them could have anticipated, in fact. When Tobirama relinquished his punitive scheme to those clans that did not have enough to contribute, Hashirama was elated. He assumed his younger brother had found some startling sense of leniency. He didn’t know the truth. 

“It still means the village is at fault, Hashirama.”

The Senju’s brows knit, and something foreboding tugs his mind, like a scraping caution. He doesn’t want to delve into this type of conversation again. “I don’t blame the village functioning as a whole for this, Madara. And I doubt she does either. But it does make sense that she would seclude herself and focus on other matters, now that their clan is settled. It’s just disheartening to think she might not feel welcomed anymore.”

And there’s what Madara expected. Guilt. Concern. Distress. Hashirama takes too much to heart.

Before Madara can affirm it, Tobirama walks into the office. 

The Uchiha can already tell it’s going to be a disaster before Hashirama even opens his mouth.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama starts, lacking the familiar congeniality always resonating in his voice.

Tobirama looks weary, a common sight those last few weeks. His reply comes meek as he takes a seat at the end of the table. “What?”

“Did you notice that _______-san has been absent?”

Tobirama glances at Madara. In a fraction of a second, he understands. 

Tobirama isn’t stupid. As her white knight, Madara  _must_  know what transpired between them. Or at least, he must know vague details of the confrontation. But whether or not she disclosed every facet of the issue and its conclusion, he doesn’t know. Judging by the curious, hardened look that the Uchiha is giving him, he would guess not.

“I haven’t seen her,” Tobirama replies simply.

“You don’t think it’s odd? You two were spending quite a lot of time together. Have you spoken to her at all?”

“Not in a while.” He won’t mention the incident with her little cousin. Tobirama is actually curious as to why his elder brother hadn’t inquired on the whole situation earlier. He doesn’t doubt that Madara is the one who brought the concern to fruition. A  _concern_  seems mild, in fact. With the way Hashirama’s expression is twisted with apprehension, Tobirama would say this is more of a dilemma now.

“Madara says she feels neglected,” Hashirama laments. “And uninvolved.”

“I did not say she felt  _neglected_ ,” Madara inputs quietly. He didn’t need her sounding so fragile, no matter how true it might be at the moment. 

“She’s always been absorbed with her clan’s affairs,” Tobirama contends, not realizing how bitter it sounds until Hashirama frowns. “I don’t see why she shouldn’t be busy with her own responsibilities.”

“Maybe… but it still bothers me.” Hashirama’s frown deepens. “You don’t think she’s angry with us, do you?”

Tobirama crosses his arms. “Why would you think that?”

Hashirama shrugs. He doesn’t want to admit it out loud, out of fear that he would be unlawfully slandering her, but she  _is_  quite irritable at times. There’s no disputing that. “I think we tend to have… disagreements with her and her clan more often than not. Maybe she’s chosen to distance herself.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes, but won’t deny the guilt stirring through him. He had known full well that their last lengthy encounter in Hashirama’s office left her on edge. He had seen it in her eyes the other day in the village market. There was too much left unsaid for her to  _not_  to be dismayed. But he never meant to put her in a position that steered her away from him, or the rest of the village. He didn’t need that weight on his shoulders.

But then again, that was  _her_  problem. Not his. If she couldn’t suffer the aftermath and move on like  _he_  had—still  _was,_ in fact—it wasn’t his problem. 

“Madara,” Hashirama starts, turning to his friend. “Will you talk to her? Encourage her and reassure her, maybe? She should be more involved, not detached.”

“You’re too invested in this, brother,” Tobirama says, almost defensively. “You have more pressing matters that beg your attention.”

“It saddens me to think she’s secluded herself,” he protests. 

“I don’t think she’ll listen to me,” Madara says. “I have tried. It’s not my place to keep pressing the matter. Her reasons are her own.” He makes sure the air of his last statement leaves room for careful interpretation. He suspects Tobirama will come to his own conclusions. But he won’t dwell on his simmering anger, knowing it will do no good for his conscience. He stands from his chair. “I’m going to meet with my advisors before our meeting with the bookkeeper. I’ll see you both then.”

Hashirama nods and watches his friend leave, completely missing the hard glare Tobirama sends the Uchiha’s way. Then he sighs heavily. “One thing after another. There’s always something unpleasant stirring in the village.” He looks at his brother. “I thought things were going so well when you two collaborated on the academy.”

Me too, Tobirama wants to admit. He might have saved himself more than enough trouble by evading her as of late, but he can’t help but feel void of companionship because of it, difficult as it is to admit.

“Village framework is a priority for everyone right now, brother. Focus will be on one’s clan for the time being. At least until the mess is sorted. She is no different. As her clan’s advisor, it can’t be helped.”

“Well… I suppose you’re right.” Hashirama doesn’t seem at all reassured, but he also knows there’s no easy solution. 

When they finally mean to depart for the bookkeeper’s office, Tobirama is unable to put down his urges.

“Brother,” he says.

“Yes?”

“How is Mito coming along with the seals for the academy?”

“Ah. Alright, I suppose.” That only introduces another focal point of Hashirama’s concern as of late. “Though I suppose it is rather tedious for her. Now that she’s pregnant, I would prefer she not strain herself. She likes to keep herself occupied, but she tires easily.” 

“Does she have assistants helping her?”

Hashirama hums. “I’m not sure. I don’t believe so. Most of her clansmen are busy with missions and their own seal work. She probably should have an assistant, though. It’s demanding work.”

“I see. Then hopefully she can manage the task on her own.” 

Tobirama leaves it at that. Hashirama won’t detect the suggestive undertone in his voice, but he knows even someone as mindless as his brother should be able to come to the implicated conclusion.

“Yes, hopefully.”

Hashirama follows his brother out of the office, but pauses briefly when he sees the opportunity that has presented itself. He smiles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that week, Madara leaves the village for a diplomatic mission. She had been dreading it. With him gone, she had very little to tether her back toward the ease he helped her recover. But nothing quite distresses her like the envoy who knocks on her front door, and reports that Hashirama Senju has requested to see her.

What could he want? She thinks of too many reasons as she obeys the request and leaves for his office, all of them sounding as illogical as the last.

Not that there was anything to hide, but could he have investigated what was transpiring between her and Madara? Or worse, between her and Tobirama? Both considerations seem unpleasant.

She announces herself outside the door. Before she even climbed the steps to the building, she heard Hashirama’s boisterous laugh, accompanied by a woman’s voice, light and sweet. She’s nervously curious.

“Come in!” She hears his voice, and follows the invitation. 

The red-headed woman at Hashirama’s desk is unfamiliar to her, but she knows an Uzumaki when she sees one. It can only be Hashirama’s wife.

Hashirama smiles at her. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.” Yet she knows they’re both more than aware of her hesitance.

Mito Uzumaki in particular is scrutinizing her carefully. In no way is it malicious or haughty, yet her prudence is still sanctioned around strangers, even a stranger as good-natured as Mito poses.

Hashirama notices the uncertainty. “Oh! Forgive me, I don’t think you two have ever met before. This is my wife, Mito.”

The Uzumaki smiles at her and bows her head slightly. She returns the gesture.

“I’m glad to finally meet you.”

“And I you, Mito-san.”

“I’m sorry to call you here so suddenly,” Hashirama says after a moment’s pause. “Come take a seat, please.”

She accepts, watching them expectedly.

“You’re not in trouble,” Hashirama jokes, noticing the apprehension lining her features. “I just wanted to share an idea and see if it was of your interest. It’s been on my mind recently, and I thought I might ask.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Well,” Hashirama glances at his wife as he speaks, “Mito has been creating seals for the academy. The children need to familiarize themselves with fuinjutsu. Rudimentary fuinjutsu, of course. But considering how many students attend the academy now, it’s a task to fill the quota necessary to equip every one of them, and then still supply extras. If it’s not too much to ask, would you consider assisting my wife?” 

“Assist her?”

“You greatly contributed to the academy’s debut. And now that we’ve narrowed down what we need for each classroom and for each lesson, there’s still much more to be done. I know it’s sudden…”

She’s by no means a master when it comes to fuinjutsu. And nowhere near the level of proficiency as an Uzumaki. Which immediately calls for suspicion, but Mito is smiling at her kindly enough to put down the doubt.

“I wouldn’t ask much of you,” the redhead assures, “but some assistance would be greatly appreciated. I understand that given your occupation, other duties might demand your attention, so we are by no means pressuring you.”

“Of course it’s just a suggestion,” Hashirama agrees. “You’re not obligated to do anything you don’t have the time for. I just thought it might be of interest to you.”

She considers it. “Most other business I attend to in my clan isn’t as toilsome as you might think. Just running errands, mostly. Nothing too pressing.” She feels silly for admitting it, but she can’t stop herself. “I have more free time than I probably should.”

Hashirama smiles hopefully. “So… would you be interested?”

“I’d love to assist, of course, though I don’t know much help I’ll be.”

“Any help is help.” Mito smiles warmly, an endearing, infectious smile.

She doesn’t understand her own impulsivity, and knows the opportunity seems too good to be true, but enthusiasm bubbles inside her. Before long, she’s smiling too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah idk how many kids Hashi and Mito had in canon but I'm guessing a lot because he just seems like the type ya know. The fck like a rabbit type
> 
> I know there are some extra "OCs" now but don't worry they have no names either and are p much just for plot, and there aren't too many


	6. Chapter 6

When he returns to the village a week later, Madara is surprisingly content to find that she’s too occupied with new endeavors to visit him as frequently as she had been. And when they do see each other, she’s undoubtedly relaxed, more relaxed than he’s seen in weeks.

Currently, she sits in the living area of his home endowing a seal with chakra, attempting in vain to activate the thing. She tries again and again, but no avail.  It’s a simple technique, too. Although, he’s never heard her claim to be proficient in fuinjutsu, so the struggle is understandable. He only sits there with his head resting on his knuckles, watching, smiling.

She hears him huff in amusement at one point and glances at him, eyes strained and hairline glistening with sweat. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Please continue.”

She frowns, but it’s harmless, and tries to infuse chakra into the seal once more. 

Met with defeat for the umpteenth time, she finally relinquishes her efforts and rests back on her hands to catch her breath. “How does Mito do this day in and day out? I can manage a dozen seals and no more. She goes through hundreds.”

“She’s an Uzumaki. It’s in her blood.”

Madara goes back to reading the lengthy scroll in his hands, thankful she hasn’t pried about it yet. 

As of late, village diplomacy has been a distant concern. He can wrap up any matters that need his attention relatively quickly, anyway. Recently, a certain Uchiha relic has come to his attention and toyed with his concentration.

It’s promising, and a potential ease to his budding concerns for the village. He spends hours at a time gathering as many ancient Uchiha documents and records as possible, all to supplement his research. So far, it’s proving to be tiresome, but he persists, fretfully hoping that the end result will alleviate him.

“Did you tell Hashirama something about me?” she asks suddenly.

Concentration broken, his eyes move back to her. “Why?”

“Hashirama may have introduced this idea, but I know it’s not something he thought of on his own. Did you say something to him?”

Madara won’t tell her the truth that he’s come to realize. The moment he found out about her little partnership with Mito, Madara knew precisely who had cultivated it. Hashirama is too heedless to suspect that the solution to her isolation was giving her more responsibilities, and fuinjutsu work, of all things. Mito, though cordial and considerate, didn’t have a stake in the situation in the first place. Which left one candidate.

It was enough that Tobirama conceived her problems in the first place, but for him to try and make reparations for them now? It was aggravating. It may have been a fine idea in terms of getting her involved while tackling village work along the way, but Madara won’t give Tobirama credit, and he won’t tell her if she doesn’t already know.

“I admit to telling him you were feeling… secluded.”

Her brow rises with skepticism. “And that’s all?”

“Do you think I’m lying to you?" 

"No, Madara. I don’t think you’re lying to me.” And in her voice, he detects a sliver of irritation, but she covers it quickly with a sigh. “I’m just stressed and feeling… useless. I can barely manage one seal. I don’t know how I’m expected to make a dent in the supply needed for the academy. It doesn’t make sense that Hashirama would ask this of me.”

“Hashirama tells me Mito is relieved, and is having an easier time. Besides, I imagine she appreciates having you as a companion.”

She smiles cynically. “Is that what she considers me, a companion?”

“Would you rather a subordinate? A laborer?”

She scoffs. “No, that doesn’t sound right, though it feels like that sometimes. She’s always guiding me and correcting me—albeit cordially. It’s still embarrassing, though.”

“Well…” His train of thought sinks out of the present as he searches in frustration for a misplaced document. Whether his next transgression is a consequence of a distracted mind, or solely the product of thriving frustration, his tone is pungent all the same. “As nice as it is, seal work should be handled by the Senju if they need help so badly. She could have found someone else to assist.”

She eyes him bleakly. “Mito is a Senju by marriage, Madara. That’s all.“

He realizes his mistake, hating that he’s allowed malice into his mind once again, and in her presence, no less. His conscience begs him to continue his acrimony in hopes it will turn into an argument. An argument long overdue to vent out his frustration. She’s  _still_  helping the Senju in an indirect way, still heeling to their needs and whims. All he meant to do was remind her of that. 

"Do you enjoy what you’re doing?” he asks. When she remains silent, he clarifies. “Your work with Mito. Are you satisfied with it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

It almost shocks her. Would he really concede so easily? It also hurts her, for some reason. But she pushes that sentiment aside in order to appreciate his effort, and changes the subject to alleviate his evident struggle.  

“Why are you drowning in scrolls these days, Madara?”

Well, she was bound to be curious sooner or later. But he hardly plans on disclosing his personal matters to her. It’s not something she should know or needs to know. Not yet.

“Hashirama is pressed with mission assignments right now. He is arranging Senju shinobi in teams and assigning ranks. For now, he doesn’t need my assistance. I figure it only opportune I center my concerns around Uchiha matters.”

“Oh. Like what?”

This onset of curiosity is annoying. He glances at her, knowing that her inquiry is likely an effort to soften the underlying tension of their previous conversation, and to bring forth harmonious comfort. It’s only regressive.

Just as he’s about to make up a lie, there’s a knock outside of his door. 

He thinks it’s an attendant come to deliver news. A good intervention. He permits them inside, despite the diffidence he sees in her eyes at the notion of someone witnessing them together like this. But when they walk in, it’s not an Uchiha. 

The attendant is from her clan, Madara can tell that much by the boy’s chakra. The Uchiha regards him carefully and almost cynically, but her eyes brighten.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

And somehow, the chipper tone of her voice relaxes Madara. 

The young man, who Madara suspects is younger than she is, still a teenager who has yet to meet twenty years, bows but does not step into his home.

“The clan heads are asking for you.”

It’s unlike them to need her so urgently that they would send someone out to find her. “What’s wrong?”

“Something about budgeting for a new council headquarters, I believe.”

“I see. Hopefully they won’t keep me too long. I planned on helping your mother make dinner tonight.”

She gathers her scrolls and makes to leave. When she stands to her feet, she sees Madara eyeing her curiously.

She clears her throat. “This is my cousin, Madara. The one I was telling you about.”

The boy seems flustered by such an intimate introduction, and to Madara Uchiha, of all people. 

Madara regards him with a nod and a sound of affirmation, more than he would offer any conventional messenger. She doesn’t think much of it and takes no offense, knowing Madara doesn’t enjoy close-knit, familiar situations. He’s silent when they depart.

“Is it really about a new headquarters?” she asks her cousin on the way back to their neighborhood, glancing up at him. A good half a foot taller than her, though years younger. “I’ve never heard them mention it before.”

“No, but I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Embarrass me?”

He rubs his cheek thoughtfully. “I think they’re worried about you being away so often. They told me to come find you.”

“Do they know I was with him?”

“Madara Uchiha? No. Don’t worry. I won’t tell them, either.”

She suspects they’ll figure that out on their own eventually. Until then, she’ll enjoy the time they have left. Yet, something bothersome persists at the back of her mind. “Well if they didn’t know where I was, how did you?”

He smiles a cheeky smile she’s used to seeing when he’s out of shinobi attire and at home, besting her at shogi, playing with his little sister, pestering his mother about her bland cooking. All frivolities that somehow never failed to comfort her. 

"Lucky guess,” he says simply.

She doesn’t know what he means. She hasn’t mentioned anything beyond the fact that she and Madara were acquainted. But that expression on his face signifies an understanding that needn’t be spoken.

She scoffs at him, feeling embarrassed and giddy, but anxiety intrudes her mind, nevertheless. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tobirama.”

“What?”

“_______-san is doing very well. Mito tells me she’s happy and occupied with their seals.”

“Good,” Tobirama replies, distracted, ignoring his elder brother in favor of reading over a disappointing mission report. So many enemy shinobi surrounding the village, yet they couldn’t counter their advances… Then he reconsiders Hashirama’s words.

He turns to look at his brother. “Why are you telling me this?”

Hashirama frowns at the sharp tone. “I thought you might want to know, since it was your idea in the first place.”

Well, he must admit, he hadn’t expected Hashirama to put the pieces together. “My idea?”

“You’re the one who mentioned it, Tobirama!”

“And does she know it was ‘ _my_ ’ idea? Does she think I had anything to do with it?”

“I believe I did mention to Mito that you asked about her seal work—”

“Not Mito.”

It’s that recurring sharp tone that keeps Hashirama momentarily silent. Tobirama is not easy to read, but there’s a forced indifference in his younger brother’s voice that urges Hashirama’s growing suspicions.

“Why does that matter?” he asks.

Tobirama scoffs and looks back at the paper in his hands. “The last thing I need is for her to think I have an ulterior motive. She always expects the worst from me.”

“That’s not fair,” Hashirama protests. “You did something good, Tobirama. I’m sure she would appreciate it.”

“I know how she thinks.”

“You should at least—”

“Does she know, or not, brother?”

Hashirama has the urge to protest, but doesn’t. “I don’t think so.“

“Then keep it that way.”

Hashirama doesn’t understand, and finds it difficult to analyze his younger brother’s thought process. But he abstains from prying, no matter how badly he wants to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Mito is hospitable and kind, ever patient with her even though she has yet to break in the art of fuinjutsu. But days seem to go by faster with the Uzumaki.

It’s a relief to be occupied with duties away from the trivialities that her clan heads assign her. As advisor, she’s of course prepared to offer counsel when necessary, but she refuses to be troubled any longer with concerns about their clan’s reputation, or the ostentation of their residencies, or whether or not they should marry someone into the Senju clan since it seemed to work  _so_   _well_  for the Uzumaki—and whatever further nuisances warranted their annoying suspicions as of late.

Fuinjutsu is equally distressing at times, but the abatement of political drama is enough to contest that. That, and she’s managed to make a friend out of it. Through work, their conversations are light but friendly, inviting her to open up in a way she hadn’t felt secure enough to do previously. And one day, she can’t stop herself from giving in to the apprehension that has yet to leave.

“Can I ask you something, Mito?”

"Certainly.”

“How did you feel when first coming into the village?" 

As if it’s a thought that has never crossed her mind, Mito rests back on her knees and ponders, chestnut eyes curious and soft.

“When I married Hashirama, he was very open about his dreams for the village. At the time, it seemed strenuously ambitious, I will admit. Especially with tension so thick between rivaling clans. I suppose I was hesitant. But I trusted Hashirama. And I still do.”

It’s difficult  _not_  to trust Hashirama, the woman thinks. “I didn’t mean to offend you, or indirectly, Hashirama.”

“There was no offense taken,” the Uzumaki replies with soft assurance. And seeing that her companion has nothing more to say, she continues. “And we’ve come this far, putting aside what acrimony kept us apart, gaining support from so many clans. That’s the key to progress. I put my worries aside and welcomed the future.”

Mito’s words strike a chord with her. It offers a different perspective, one so different than what fueled the flames of uncertainty before. For so long, she blamed a portion of the anxiety on solicited stress from her work as advisor.  Being responsible for her clan’s well-being in the village was certainly toilsome, but it wasn’t that which was the root of her problems. It was Tobirama and Madara, all of the misgivings and mistrust she allowed them to bring, trivialities only furthering her dilemma, constantly anticipating sorrow or tension, never able to let go. It was all too much.

“Now, if I’m not being too invasive, why do you ask?” Mito asks her, bringing her away from her ponderous thoughts. 

She considers lying, but if conviction is going to prevail, she needs to face the truth. “I’ve had issue acclimating to the village. I suppose that I haven’t considered that the answer to my problem  _is_  the problem. I don’t know how to fit in, I suppose. And my clan being so small, I especially can’t trust that we have a place here, though I would like us to.”

Mito nods. “I know this might not mean anything, but I hope you being here and assisting me can in some way assure you that your presence is welcomed and needed. Unity is the purpose of the village.”

“Of course,” she says, suddenly concerned that she’s again insulting Mito with her doubts. “But I must say again, I’m awful at fuinjutsu, I really think you would benefit from me not helping at all.”

"Don’t be so hard on yourself. You are helpful. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she says, finding she can smile genuinely and warmly for the first time. “Congratulations, by the way,” she speaks on a whim. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier.”

Mito glances at her, curious.

"On your baby, I mean. Madara told me.”

“Oh, thank you.” The redhead caresses her stomach on instinct, feeling the subtle swell. Distracted, and indulging her own reserved curiosity, she has to ask, “Are you and Madara-san close?“

She’s startled by the question, perhaps because it seemed so obviousto her that Mito would know the answer. If Hashirama was as open with his wife as he appeared to be, the man was bound to mention her relationship with the Uchiha at some point.

"I was just curious, forgive me. Hashirama mentioned it to me once.” The Uzumaki notices the woman’s eyes dart to the ground, as if flustered. “I think my husband is thankful that Madra has another companion.”

“Yes, his… friendship has helped me adapt to this new life in the village, I think.” She tries to find a real answer to the question. “He’s encouraged me to relax, and not allow village politics to worry me. His presence is also comforting, so I believe we’re quite close.”

Mito nods and smiles as she returns to her work, warmth in her features. “I’m glad.”

Yet the woman wonders, as she watches her redheaded companion effortlessly activate seals, what has Madara’s truly done for her?

He surely is her closest friend. She owes much of her welfare to him, but he’s equally at fault for her troubles. Undoubtedly, he’s roused turbulence, utilized her as an outlet for his own fears and anxieties. But those fears and anxieties had to take root somehow, presumably, through the Senju. 

Because of that, she could just as easily say that Tobirama is to blame. It’s easier than racking her brain over the guilty and the innocent, the right and the wrong. She’s never had a problem condemning Tobirama for her anguish. Yet, when she considers their situation now, it saddens her. 

Will they remain on faulty, acrimonious ground for the rest of their lives? Now when the war was over and peace rather than discretion was encouraged? Remaining on unceremonious ground will do nothing to support her newfound enthusiasm. If it was going to mean something, there needed to be resolution and understanding—a welcoming of the future, and a washing away of past conflicts. She knows it’s the only way to restore the warmth for him that she had once felt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~                     

Confidence forgotten, the moment she sees the white hair she wants to turn and run the other direction immediately, but she forces courage. 

Mito had been suddenly plagued with nausea that morning, and went home halfway through their seal work. In the Uzumaki’s place, the woman offered to deliver the daily shipment of scrolls to the academy. 

Of course she had it in her mind that she might run into Tobirama, but the anxiety had yet to hit her in full force, at least until she walked into the main office and saw him standing there. 

Something tells her she might be able to avoid disaster if she focuses on anything  _but_ him, yet, that would defeat the purpose. It would defeat the determination she’s embraced to right their wrongs. But he’s too busy speaking with an instructor to turn around and notice her. 

Unable to decide between speaking to him or fleeing, she hastily decides on the latter. Hurriedly, she sets the box of scrolls on a nearby desk. Whatever noise she makes that tugs his attention, she doesn’t know, but he glances over his shoulder and sees the scrolls. He’s a moment away from asking for the inventory report to accompany the package, when he sees her. 

He momentarily pauses his train of thought, then turns back to the man in front of him, swiftly ending the conversation and offering her full attention, much to her surprise. 

He looks at her, eyes curious but guarded. It’s a frustratingly familiar austerity that she forgot she hated. 

“These are from Mito,” she says before he can speak.

His eyes run over the heap of scrolls. “This is a sizeable amount.”

“Yes. Mito gets through dozens in one day.”

“I heard you were working with her now.”

“Thanks to your brother, yes.”

Something shifts in his expression, but she can’t decipher it.

“Right,” is all he says. Then he’s shuffling through the seals and examining them, complete focus there and there only, like she’s invisible. 

She starts to leave, simply because it appears like an inopportune time to prolong a conversation, but looking at him sparks something inside her. She remembers the words he spoke to her that night, the intensity of his rash, impassioned words which were clearly never meant to be spoken out loud. She still doesn’t understand what he meant. Either that, or she refuses to. 

“Tobirama.”

He looks at her, wary of her tone. When he doesn’t reply, she clears her throat. “Can I speak to you about something?”

The pieces fit together almost immediately. He would ask that she elaborate, but he won’t feign ignorance. He’ll at least offer her that much in honesty. He knows what she wants. An explanation. 

"I don’t have the time right now. I have work to finish.”

Weeks ago, she would have teased him for the brusque comment, just to anger him. But she can’t anymore, and suspects that he’s not lying. 

People constantly shuffle in and out of the office, stacking papers and scrolls and reports. There’s even a man waiting eagerly at Tobirama’s side, attempting to grab his attention with the tap of his foot.

And Tobirama turns to him without offering her another glance. It unbearably frustrates her, but she wonders if she was foolish to expect anything more for him.

As soon as the man is done speaking and leaves, Tobirama sighs inwardly, feeling distressed and contrite. Resolved, he turns to her, uncertain of what he can say to appease her, but knowing he should say  _something_. But she’s already gone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A meeting is held the next week to discuss growing friction between the village and assailants at its borders. Shinobi still loiter outside the village perimeter. Not yet close enough to prove a threat—a mile or two away, at the least—but enough to stir the attention of sensory types. Something needed to be done about these shinobi, the clans decided, graciously or not.

She delegates in place of her clan heads, who apparently thought such a frivolous meeting did not require their presence. It only proves how lenient, perhaps  _lackadaisical,_  they are when it came to urgent matters. 

She would be annoyed, but she’s come to enjoy the village congress. It’s all the more worth it when she catches the Shimura who reprimanded her before staring at her. Whatever edge of disgust or malice lines the old man’s gaze is quickly forgotten, apparently, and he glances away. She suspects that’s because Madara is at her side. 

Hashirama had come late, apologizing. She could tell from his appearance that he had just woken up. Tobirama hadn’t look pleased, but he shows nothing besides his usual impassivity now. She knows he noticed her there. It would be impossible to ignore her that much. Yet he still seems to avoid glancing at her side of the room for the duration of the meeting. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat every time she’s reminded of the fact.

The meeting is subdued, unlike any other previously facilitated. Hashirama, of course, preaches civility as soon as he can, convinced that any action taken to the problem outside their village would benefit from a non-violent approach. Some agree, but most do not, Madara and Tobirama included, and Hashirama is eventually swayed into middle ground. The problem was deciding how to assemble shinobi for defensive means, while keeping in mind that a time might come when defense was not enough. How many villagers would be opposed to anything even slightly resembling war after peace had finally been found? She feels anxiety at the very thought of it.

After the meeting ends and the masses disperse, she trails Tobirama. She figures then is as good a time as ever for a second attempt at conciliating with the Senju. But as soon as she steps out of the building, Madara stops her.

"Where are you going?”

She turns to him, red in the cheeks. She hadn’t realized he expected her to follow at his side. Judging by the direction he’s headed, his destination is the Uchiha neighborhood.

“Nowhere. Should I come with you? I didn’t know if you were free today, or else I would have gathered papers from my office to review at your home—”

"I need to meet with Hashirama later. I have no free time today.”

“Oh, I see.”

Still, he scrutinizes her carefully. “Where are you going?” he asks again.

Instinctively, she makes to glance over her shoulder at Tobirama, but she can see Madara has already found him in the distance with his own hard, critical gaze.

"Home,” she says finally.

It’s obvious he doesn’t believe it. He nods, nevertheless.

“I’ll see you, then.”

“Yes.” Something shudders through her, a quiet fear. “I’ll see you.”

~~~~~~~~~~ 

“How did the meeting go?” 

“As well as it could have gone, I suppose.”

Her cousin frowns at the response as he walks at her side. A sympathetic frown telling of the inert anxiety that must plague most villagers when it comes to political affairs in which they cannot involve themselves. They leave it to the diplomats, though she can understand why in his position, when their clan is managed by dolts, why that would be unsettling.

She smiles softly. “They decided the best option was to assemble teams to send out and patrol, and if necessary, to ward off any potential adversaries. Most seemed to think it wouldn’t come to that, though. They would have attacked the village by now, or at least gathered in larger numbers.”

“Are they scouting, then?”

“Probably. It’s only natural for surrounding shinobi to investigate the village. They want to keep an eye on any potential militants that could pose a problem in the future. That’s what Madara says.”

The smirk that reaches her cousin’s face vanishes as quickly as it came. He wouldn’t want her to notice.

They arrive at their separate paths, one leading to their neighborhood, the other, the Senju’s.

“I’ll try to come by later for dinner, if I can,” she tells him.

“Will you be with Madara?”

As if surprised by his effrontery, she almost scoffs. “I don’t spend every waking moment with him. You don’t think I neglect my other duties that much, do you?”

Now he doesn’t mind if she sees his smirk. “Oh, so it’s your duty to walk over to Madara Uchiha’s house every morning?”

A blush rises to her cheeks. “Just forget it. I need to meet with Mito.”

They part ways, and as she treads through the Senju neighborhood, she finds it shamefully spineless how quickly her nerves flare. She peels her eyes for the white-haired shinobi almost immediately, wearing her anxiety like a second skin. It can’t continue like this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hashirama looks thoroughly distressed. The moment she walked into his office with Mito, the woman could see the worry lines creasing the Senju’s features.

"What’s wrong?” the Uzumaki asks her husband.

He scratches the back of his head and lowers his eyes in uncertainty. “I know we’re supposed to leave for the inn tomorrow, but… I had to send Toka out on a mission today, just to fill a team quota. And she won’t be back until the day after tomorrow.”

Mito’s face falls in understanding. “I see.”

Hashirama looks no less bothered. “We can always find someone else,” he insists, “maybe one of your assistants is willing to babysit? At least until Toka returns.”

As Mito considers the suggestion, the woman at her side glances curiously between the couple. “Babysit?” she asks carefully.

“We’re meant to leave on a trip tomorrow morning,” Hashirama explains. “And I’m not sure who else will watch our daughter now that Toka is gone. We would bring her along with us, but it’s a special trip. Mito and I—” He glances at his wife. A subtle shake of her head as embarrassment rises in her, pleading with him not to continue out loud. He shrugs off the blush about to heat his cheeks. “Well… our daughter is restless. And wouldn’t appreciate the travel, or being away from home for so long.”

Immediately, the woman wonders why they won’t ask Tobirama. It  _is_  his niece, after all. But she’s marginally hesitant to even speak his name in front of his elder brother. 

“I can’t ask an assistant,” the Uzumaki replies to her husband. “I have very little of them available. They’re occupied. Perhaps we should reconsider the trip.”

Hashirama frowns. “I thought you wanted to go.”

“I did, it sounded lovely. But I don’t want you to go around asking for volunteers to watch our child. I already know you will.”

Hashirama smiles sheepishly, but the distressing impression returns to his face as he considers the situation.

She doesn’t know what compels her, perhaps it’s seeing the married couple so troubled, but she figures it only courteous that she offer. “I can watch your daughter, if you would like.”

They look at her as she says it, their curious expressions immediately unnerving her. She wonders if it was too bold of a suggestion, and tries to compensate. “Only if you’re comfortable with it,” she says. “I feel that we’ve accomplished a considerable amount with seals this week, and if you don’t require me to do anything else, I could watch her until Toka-san returns.”

“Will you really?” Hashirama asks, enthused, hardly noticing he hadn’t taken input from his wife. But she seems just as pleased with the idea. 

“We wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” Mito says. 

“I assure you it’s no inconvenience. If anything, consider it a thank you for allowing me to assist you.”

The Uzumaki woman smiles warmly, a sentiment complimented by her husband’s enthusiasm. 

“Well, if it won’t be much of a bother to you,” Hashirama says. “We’d be very grateful.”

Her smile is genuine and relaxed for the first time that day. “I think I’ll be able to handle it.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tobirama spends the better half of the day running errands that he shouldn’t be running. But with his brother out of the village on his little frivolous retreat, someone had to take on his responsibilities.

Although he can’t distinguish one inconvenience from the other that day, Tobirama is particularly rattled that he can’t find the one thing he’s looking for. Hashirama was supposed to leave him mission reports, but upon searching his office, the younger Senju didn’t find a single document.

Toka often aided his brother with paperwork when he wasn’t around, and will hopefully know where Hashirama did away with the report he needed. He figures if he’s going to start anywhere, it might as well be with her. But the last thing he expects to see as he walks into his brother’s house is someone who is  _not_  Toka with his niece in their hands.

His shock turns to angry discretion, prepared to reprove the stranger. He doesn’t recognize her until she turns around to face him, her face going blank as soon as she does.

"What are you doing here? Where is Toka?” he demands, voice edged with irritation.

She’s not deterred by the bite in his words. Her tone is careful when she speaks. “She went out on a mission. I offered to take her place for Mito and Hashirama. At least, until she comes back tomorrow.”

It would have been very nice to receive that information beforehand, Tobirama thinks. But he doesn’t put it past his brother to completely disregard that courtesy and decide something so impulsive.

He still has yet to quell the confusion that keeps his eyes sharp and face twisted in a scowl. Then he looks at his niece, who grins up at him and babbles incoherent, excited words.

He fights the instinct to kick the woman out of his brother’s house, but knows that would be brash and uncalled for. If Hashirama would allow her into his home like this, then Tobirama has no reason to question the trust between them. Hashirama is foolhardy, but not when it comes to his children. 

“Did your brother not tell you?” she asks.

His cold gaze returns to her. “No. He didn’t.”

She doesn’t respond, too occupied with the little girl wiggling in her arms, and finding that Tobirama’s harsh scrutiny leaves her at a loss for words.

It’s only when the silence stretches uncomfortably that he yields and sighs, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Do you know if my brother left any paperwork here?”

She eyes him, disliking his forced, haphazard civility. “Over in his room, I think he mentioned. Paperwork he wanted to hide from his daughter, so she wouldn’t tear it up.”

As he makes the beeline toward the bedroom, she watches him, flustered, confused, and slightly offended.

Tobirama spends more time than he would like sifting through the mess of paperwork on Hashirama’s desk. Perhaps it’s on purpose, anything to stretch the fretful moment when he leaves and will be obliged to look her in the eyes again.

He could flagrantly ignore her, like he’d been attempting for so long now. But it’s becoming a more difficult and harrowing task as the days go by. He can still see her out in the living area, through a crack in the door just wide enough to watch as she pulls his lively niece into her lap, speaking in an uncharacteristically fond and chipper tone as she entertains the girl.

Distracted by the spectacle, he’s not quick enough to look away when the woman glances over her shoulder and their gazes meet.

He tears his eyes away once his senses return to him, a sting of frustration running through his body.

She attempts in vain to distract the little girl with an array of toys that have been set out for her, but her focus is only over in the other room where her uncle sits. The child hadn’t stopped reaching over her shoulder since she first saw him, making enthusiastic, garbled sounds.

When she attempts to pull the girl back into her lap for the final time, the woman receives a stubborn squeal in protest, and a surprisingly strong tug on her hair. 

For the nature of childish glee, she decides to give in.

Tobirama is cautiously annoyed when she announces herself and slides open the door to enter Hashirama’s room. He waits for an explanation. 

“She wanted to see you.”

She lowers the toddler onto the floor in front of him. Tobirama would protest, but it  _is_  his niece; her chubby, eager little hands reach for him, brown eyes beam up at him in cheerful optimism, just like his brother’s. 

He relents, pulling the girl up to rest in his lap and gradually relaxing with the way she plays with his fingers.

"Why did Hashirama not ask you to watch her?” the voice comes quiet.

He looks at the woman, disquieted, as if he’d forgotten—or  _tried_  to forget—that she was in the room. He hoped that she would at least remain silent and not try for conversation, since it clearly never did any good for them.

“I would have. But with my brother gone, I had other responsibilities to oversee.” Before she can open her mouth again, he hurriedly continues, "I have work to do here. I can watch her tonight. You don’t have to stay. I’ll vouch for you once Hashirama and Mito return.”

It’s an abrupt and surly dismissal she didn’t anticipate. Is he really going to be so brusque? It’s not an uncommon offense for Tobirama, but what had she done to warrant it? Would he really continue to act as though she had so greatly wronged him that she deserved this treatment?

To add insult to injury, he won’t even look at her.

“Are you sure?” she asks, bargaining with his tolerance, only in some feeble attempt to inspire whatever mercy she can. “I don’t know if I can just leave when your brother is expecting me to—”

“I’ll explain it to him. You can leave.”

Her eyes soften with the pain of harsh rejection. How many times will he refuse her? How many times until she gives up the hapless endeavor?

Nevertheless, she complies and leaves, knowing no good will come from pressing him any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots and lots of Tobirama next chap


	7. Chapter 7

When missions are distributed, she enlists for participation. The idea of biding her time in an office surrounded by piles of paperwork did not suit her, especially when her clansmen were being sent into the slowly growing plane of danger outside of the village. The threat of opposing clans still had yet to subside. Venturing too far from the village did not bode well those days, and their diplomatic bearing teetered between passive and defensive far too often.

She thought it only prudent to do her part and contribute to the village agenda. Quotas needed to be filled for teams. She saw no harm in it. Which ends up being a grave mistake.

Alongside one of her clansman, she makes the journey to the front of the village where the team will group and deploy, mentally preparing for the possibility of an enemy encounter. It’s a feverish, unsettling feeling that she hasn’t felt in so long. But it’s nothing compared to what awaits at the front of the village.

A trio of young, familiar shinobi huddle together, arguing and joking amongst themselves. Hiruzen sees her first, and waves excitedly as she approaches. Koharu notices not a moment after, a bright smile crossing her features.

Confused, she turns to her clansman, who looks just as lost.

“What kind of mission is this?” she whispers to him.

He shrugs and shakes his head. "Recon, I thought. We travel for a day, rest at the inn that offered to accommodate shinobi from our village, finalize an arrangement with the innkeepers, and scout the surrounding area. Otherwise, I heard nothing else except that our captain is Tobirama Senju. He’s supposed to sign a contract and—”

Her face colors with anxiety. "Tobirama? But—”

He emerges from the village entrance a moment later, clad in armor, a sack slung over his shoulder. He sees her, and the sudden shift in his expression suggests he’s just as perplexed by her presence as she is by his, but the evidence disappears just as fast, replaced by the stoic demeanor she’s come to resent so much.

“You’ve been briefed, I assume,” he says, addressing everyone but her, his eyes only on her clansman. He waits for an answer from his young team, and to the other shinobi, a duo of Hyuuga. He still doesn’t acknowledge her.

“Is such an extensive team necessary for a short recon mission?” her clansman asks out loud, doubtfully.

She fully expects Tobirama to reprimand him, but he doesn’t. Which angers her. Had  _she_  asked such a brazen question, she knows that’s the exact response she would have received.

“Yes. The path we’ll take hasn’t been marked as hazardous. Not yet. But we can’t let our guard down. We may encounter shinobi when we arrive at the inn, or even before. It’s a precautionary measure.”

She has to wonder why he would bring his students along if danger persisted, but she chooses not to voice those thoughts, and moves in tandem with the team as they depart from the village.

The journey is anti-climactic. Nothing like the recon missions she remembers from warring times. Instead of hurrying through the forest, sprinting above the trees and making haste toward their destination, they walk. The stroll is casual, but taken with caution. She can feel it in the air, can see it in the way Tobirama ignores the prattling of his students to put all focus into their surroundings.

She doesn’t know how he does it. The children are difficult to ignore. They glance over their shoulders much too often, looking directly at her, whispering to each other, then averting their eyes when she takes notice.

It’s curiously off-putting, but she follows Tobirama’s example and tries to dismiss it as childish antics, miserably failing. Her clansman even inquires on her suddenly agitated disposition, but she waves it off.

“I’m just perplexed by this mission. I thought it would be… I didn’t think it would be like this.”

“I knew it was recon. But why such a sizeable unit? If the potential for danger is as prominent as the captain says, why bring children along?”

If they were on speaking terms, she would have confronted Tobirama about the same curiosity. It only makes her realize how estranged they are. Suddenly, her head hurts.

Dusk is about to break when he says that he senses something in the area, and halts their voyage. It could be wayfarers, he says, or enemy shinobi slow in their pursuit, waiting for the right moment to strike. As they find a spot for momentary camp, he wanders around the surrounding wood to scan the area.

For the majority of their reprieve, she rests against a tree, fighting off the bothersome throbbing at the back of her head, watching the three children share snacks, the Hyuuga converse amongst themselves. She even watches the leaves that occasionally detach from their withered branches and float to the ground.

It’s difficult to concentrate on the mission, which is frustrating. As a kunoichi, she had been taught from an early age to put all emotion aside. Tunnel vision was needed to fulfill her duties. The mission is what mattered. Nothing else. But it’s impossible to believe in that now. She can’t abide by it. Not when Tobirama is there. The opportunity is too promising to disregard.

“Where are you going?” her clansman pries as she stands.

“Don’t worry. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

He doesn’t persist, too absorbed in his nerves, she assumes, as she slips away without resistance.

Only a minute’s walk away from their camp site, Tobirama leans back against a tree, overseeing the edge of a cliff that descends into a valley. On the opposite side of the valley, a lush forest. The scenery is comforting, in an odd way. But the comfort doesn’t last long.

“You shouldn’t have left camp,” he says lowly, recognizing her presence.

“I think it’s fine,” she says as she comes to a stop, putting an adequate amount of distance between them. “But why does a sensor like you need to come out here in order to scan the area?”

He doesn’t answer, but she sees his lips twitch into a frown.

“You seemed surprised I was coming,” she goes on. “You didn’t have a roster of the team beforehand?”

“I did. But no names. Just what clans volunteered.”

“If you had known I was assigned, would you still have come along?”

“Of course.” He seems offended by her question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He understands what she’s implying, she knows that. But if he would rather feign ignorance, she wouldn’t stop him.

“And why bring your team along?” she asks, testing his patience. “If what you said is true, and we run into adversaries, don’t you think they’re too young—”

“They need experience,” he says firmly. “Now is as good a time as ever. If this turbulence with opposing clans continues, they’ll need all the practice they can get.”

He doesn’t need to clarify for her to understand. Most denizens in the village don’t understand the severity of their situation. Tension from other clans, no matter how slight it may seem now, will stir greater trouble sooner or later.

She shrugs off anxiety at the promise of future turmoil, and shifts her focus to the matter at hand.

He says no more on the subject, quietly watching the greenery beyond the cliff. With palpable hesitance, she comes to stand closer to him, close enough to watch the way his pale face shines in the beating sun.

He radiates with towering austerity when he’s in his armor. If he didn’t look threatening and rigorous before, he’s thoroughly intimidating now with his gear. It does little to deter her from her task, however. One that has weighed so heavily on her mind, even made her lose sleep.

“I need to ask you something.“

"Not now.”

“Then when, Tobirama?” She disregards the formalities that should be present. He  _is_  her acting captain, after all. But she refuses to sit and endure any more evasion. “There are no excuses for you out here. You owe me an explanation.”

“Can you not see that I’m busy?” He finally looks at her, eyes sharp and expression dangerously cold.

“That’s not what I meant.” She calms her wavering patience and tries again, this time softly. “I just need an explanation.”

“For what?” Now his gaze is away from her once again, but she notes that he’s mirrored her tone, his voice no longer exuding spite.

“For why you’re avoiding me.”

Truthfully, that’s not her main concern. Not at all. She knows full well  _why_  he’s chosen to ignore her. But closure is long overdue.

“Isn’t that what  _you’ve_  been doing?” he returns. “Avoiding  _me_?”

Not anymore _,_  she’s about to say. But he has a point, regardless. “Well if I am, or was, it’s your fault.”

“My fault?“

“For what happened.”

Speaking of it feels like taboo. It’s what they’ve been dancing around the entire time, for weeks now. The air is suddenly fresh with nostalgic tension.

“That’s not something that needs to be discussed,” he says.

“Of course it is,” she argues. “Or do you plan on pretending like it never happened?”

He gives her a hard look, then his eyes suddenly dart back toward the valley in front of him.

“Explain it to me, Tobirama.” When he proceeds to stare off into the distance, she comes closer, tone firm but pleading, knowing how ridiculous and naive she looks, but not caring. “Clearly, Madara was the center of it all. Were you simply cruel to me because I trusted him? Or was what you told me that night the truth?” She scoffs, remembering it, remembering how confused she had been to hear him say such a sentimental thing. “Did you really expect me to believe that you care at all about my well-being when all you did and continue to do is—”

He shushes her, and she’s astonished by the insolence. But in a quick, further inspection of his hard features, she knows something is wrong.

His eyes are glued to the tree line opposite them, across the valley, expression rigid and condensed.

“Get back to the camp,“ he says under his breath.

"What?”

“Now.”

She follows his eyes, tries to see what he’s seeing. That’s when he grabs her.

In the blink of an eye they’re kneeling at the campsite. The sudden transition has her head spinning, but there’s no time to recover from the jutsu. Everyone is at attention the moment they arrive, knowing that such an abrupt transit bodes trouble.

“A squadron is surrounding us,” Tobirama explains quickly, but with calm resolve. “We’re falling back.”

The situation is graver than his voice signifies, and Tobirama curses his lack of perceptiveness. He could have effortlessly detected the enemy miles away, but this time… He suspects it’s her fault for distracting him. He would reprimand her, but the shinobi are quickly gaining on them.

The Hyuuga have already activated their byakugan, and one looks dreadfully nervous. “But they’re closing in from all sides,” he says.

“I know.” Tobirama’s voice retains the calm, but the tone is agitated with frustration. Conjuring a battle strategy is proving difficult. He motions toward the Hyuuga. “One of you lead the team back, one stay with me. Two of us here fending them off and facing the brunt of the advance will give the rest of you time to retreat.”

“You want us to leave you behind?”

Tobirama looks at her as she asks, surprised by the grim, anxious expression on her face. He realizes he’s still holding onto her wrist, and he lets go.

If they were all to take up arms, they would serve only as hindrances to themselves. It’s a provisional team, after all. One not suited for organized teamwork and coordination. It would end in disaster, Tobirama knows.

“We’ll hold them here. If we can fight off a portion of their company, the retreat will be less chaotic. Saru, you have one of my kunai. I’ll bring us to you once we’ve done what we can.”

The enemy’s chakra levels are strong, but their purpose is not adversarial in nature. He suspects their intentions were purely reconnaissance, not combat, just like them. It won’t be difficult to hold them off, especially with a Hyuuga at his side. His only concern is with the rest of his team. Should one of them be captured, they would likely be tortured for information, before their inevitable death. Compromising the village’s security is not something he can afford. And the consequence of one of his team being killed on account of his oversight is not an option he’ll accept either.

“Is that clear?” Tobirama says to the man from her clan, and both Hyuuga. They nod. Then Tobirama looks to his team. “Don’t lag behind, and don’t do anything stupid. Do you understand me?”  

He receives more nods of confirmation, the attempt of confidence in their young eyes quickly overcome by fear. Then he looks at her. He says nothing, but she nods.

They scatter in an instant. As her company separates from Tobirama and the Hyuuga, she glances over her shoulder to watch them disappear through the trees. She’s not worried. Not entirely. There’s only one thing that solicits her concern: the spontaneity of it. Did the enemy not scout their team? Did they not know children were with them? They likely didn’t care. It was the warring time all over again. Nothing had changed.

She watches the children ahead of her, leaping from tree to tree. Then she sees it. Tobirama realizes there’s something wrong at just the same time.

As expected, the enemy has surrounded them from every side. Except for onepath. The path where the second half of their team retreated. The area is wide open, almost an invitation. Immediately, he knows that’s on purpose.

He turns, prepared to yell for them, prepared to teleport to them, but it’s too late.

She jumps, mouth unable to form around a warning protest. She reaches Hiruzen first, shoves him out of the way before he lands on the branch littered with paper bombs. Unable to attune her balance, she touches down on the tree limb instead, and feels the heat of an explosion sear her skin. Everything goes dark.

The next time she opens her eyes, the tree canopy is above her, daylight nearly gone from the sky.

The ache in her body is agonizing. Blood stains the inside of her mouth. When she moves, scorching pain shoots up her spine. Equilibrium returns momentarily, allowing her to peer down and watch as someone tends to a wound on her leg.

It hurts. It hurts badly. She’s inadvertently wriggling away with whatever strength her body can conjure, anything to escape the pain, but someone is suddenly holding her down by the shoulders.

She glances up. Tobirama.

When he notices her awake, his expression softens, a tender sight in spite of the deep cut on his forehead and the ash blanketing his fair skin.

He says something, she can’t tell what. His mouth moves, but no sound reaches her. Heavy numbness takes over her body, and her eyes close once again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Entering the medical encampment, Hashirama is dismayed to see the building so crowded. He prays that it isn’t all a consequence of the missions he’s assigned, that some men are there for trivial injuries completely unrelated to external strife. But he knows better. It isn’t what he had envisioned for his village.

Through the corridor he walks, until he finds the room he’s looking for. He enters, and there she is sleeping on the bed, looking woefully unkempt, with his brother occupying the chair at her side.

He’s propped his head up on one hand, eyes closed, like he’s about to doze off. Hashirama considers leaving. The grim report he carries can wait. But despite his younger brother’s blatant fatigue, Hashirama knows he would want to hear the news.

“Tobirama,” he speaks, approaching quietly.

The younger’s eyes blink open slowly. He glances his shoulder. “What?”

Hashirama takes one good look at his brother, at the scars and bruises, and knows the man has either refused to be treated by the medical staff, or his wounds were too intense to fix with quick jutsu. He assumes the prior.

“Why haven’t you been treated by one of the medics?”

“I have,” he insists wryly, familiar with the nagging tone Hashirama has adopted. “The wounds will heal.”

Remembering his current predicament, Tobirama’s gaze moves to the bed. She looks awful, spent and covered in soot. It’s part of the reason he can’t focus on his own wounds.

“You’re lying. Let me see.” Hashirama pulls at his brother’s sleeve. Tobirama grunts in response and wrenches away, grasping his side.

“It’s fine,” he seethes through closed teeth, attempting to hide the flash of pain in his features.

“It’s not. You need to get your wounds examined. Or at least allow me to do it. They won’t heal well on their own. Why haven’t you wrapped them yourself—”

“I’ll be  _fine_ ,” Tobirama says coldly.

Hashirama would raise his voice, if he didn’t think it might wake her. As he inspects her sleeping form on the bed, the delicacy of the situation becomes clear to him.

He won’t mention the revelation to Tobirama, in fear it would further anger him. Hashirama knows there’s more there than his brother would ever admit. There’s no other reason Tobirama would abandon pressing post-mission duties to sit in the hospital at a comrade’s side. He’s there for personal reasons, reasons Hashirama has yet to unravel.

The sentiment is gladdening to entertain, but it makes little sense to him. Hashirama suspected their relationship was strained as of late. He would inquire on their circumstances, but Hashirama knows better. He can’t ruin whatever compassion Tobirama has found. He doesn’t often see this devotion in his younger brother. He’ll stave off curiosity, for now.

“Promise me you’ll get your wounds cleaned and dressed as soon as possible,” he says.

“Fine.” Although, Tobirama imagines it will be awkward to call for the medics he so coarsely dismissed when they attempted to help him the first time. “I promise.”

That’s enough for Hashirama, at least for the time being. “Well then. I just came to tell you that the retrieval team has returned with the bodies.”

Tobirama sighs and closes his eyes. He’s lost enough comrades in his life not to welcome the sting of grief, but their circumstances are bleak, nonetheless.

His eyes open and he watches her, watches the way her face twitches every so often, watches her eyes move beneath the lids. For some dreadful reason, he suddenly imagines what it would be like if she hadn’t made it out of the forest alive, if she were one of the fallen shinobi being carried back into the village.

It was the man from her clan, and one of the Hyuuga. The Hyuuga who remained behind with him to face the enemy. Tobirama won’t forget his courage. He’s beside himself with guilt. It was his fault, or  _perhaps_  hers, if laying the blame would ease his mind. If only he had noticed them earlier, his team could have retreated without falling into the enemy’s trap.

The array of paper bombs they had planted devastated a large sector of the forest. When Tobirama fought off enough shinobi to teleport to his team, only a lone kunai marked with his seal lay in the middle of a parched field. Immediately, he anticipated the worst. He instructed Saru to never lose the kunai. It was their sole connection should they be separated in battle. If Saru had fallen, did the rest of his team fare any better?

Finding the three children amidst the chaos was an incredible relief. No one was hurt, fortunately. Saru even had blood on his sword. How many enemy shinobi had the boy managed to kill? Tobirama remembers he’ll need to have a serious talk with the Sarutobi boy later.

Next he had found the remaining Hyuuga, sporting a horrendous cut to the chest, but alive, nonetheless. Then came her clansman, dead from the impact of an explosion.

Finding her hadn’t been any less harrowing. Buried under the weight of a fallen tree, he didn’t think she would be alive when he reached under to pull her out. And even if she was alive, the leg impaled by a deep piece of wood would make it incredibly difficult for her to make the retreat back to the village.

Callous years at war told him they would be better off leaving her. He had been forced to put comrades out of their misery before, to avoid the risk of the enemy seizing them and torturing them for information. Even if they overlooked the severity of her injuries and tried to drag her back to the village, it would be folly to carry a member of the team as dead weight. They couldn’t afford that.

It’s only when he fretfully searched for a pulse under the seared skin of her arm that his heart stopped pounding. She was alive. She was alive, and he couldn’t leave her, despite what his logic told him.

Only when they had arrived back in the village did he consider what a task it would be to reveal to her the fate of her clansman. If he knows anything of the devotion she carries for her clan, it will be a deplorable truth. Maybe she’ll even blame the tragedy on him. Who knows? All he does know, is that he should be the one to tell her. If he plans to take responsibility as a veracious captain should, it has to be him. He has to stay until she wakes.

And maybe, if he can find it in him to abandon pride and sort his own confusing thoughts, he’ll allow her the conversation he’s evaded for so long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

The feminine voice sounds distant to her ears. Slowly her eyes peel open, vision adjusting with difficulty. She breathes a deep breath, only to cough and find that her chest aches something fierce.

She stares up at a white ceiling, senses coming to life and with them, the dull pain in her body. She looks at the nurse tending to the burns on her arm, flinching every time her fingers run over a tender spot.

As she picks her brain for memories, she remembers the last face she saw.

“Where is Tobirama?” Her voice comes weak and scratched, and she accepts the water that the nurse offers.

"Tobirama-san was here with you for a few hours, then left,” she explains.

The woman is curious, and considers pressing for more details, but she waves it off in favor of forcing her body to acclimate to the onset of pain. She can feel the stiffness in her leg, throbbing with a warm ache. The affliction isn’t as fresh as it had been when she woke in the forest, when she woke to Tobirama’s face.

The fate of the mission. What happened? Who survived? Was anyone else injured? Why did no one come to inform her?

She asks the nurse, but she doesn’t have an answer. For hours, she’s left in the dark, yearning for any word outside the confinements of her bed.

One nurse comes to report that her family has been contacted and will come see her soon, but she doesn’t want to wait for that. The need to know the fate of her comrades is foremost. She hates not knowing. Had the children made it? Her clansman?

She leaves as soon as she can, which seems to be  _too_  soon, as most of the nurses are in hysterics the moment she steps out of bed. Lying there the entire day, or the entire week, as they apparently insisted that she do, is not something she can afford as clan advisor. She ignores them, as well as the fiery ache that shoots up her body as she leaves the hospital.

The pain in her side is bearable once she acclimates, though it comes back to life with every step. It’s embarrassing to limp around the village, and she’s certain she looks ridiculously unkempt. But her only focus is reaching the Senju headquarters, or even her clan’s. Any place that will give her the information she seeks.

The Senju sector of the village is closer than hers, and she figures approaching Tobirama wouldn’t be completely misguided. After all, she wants to know why he left the hospital. And what prompted him to stay in the first place? She could write it off as a captain’s regard for his subordinates, but she knows Tobirama is not that type of man.

It’s only when she arrives at the Senju neighborhood that the looks from other villagers peeve her. Entering this part of the village always makes her hyperaware of her surroundings. She must look awfully disheveled.

She glances down at her clothes, preparing herself for the grisly sight, but then she sees it. The pattern on the inside of her thigh, peeking out from the slit in her dress. A circle, three lines running through, etched into her skin. She knows what it is. Tobirama’s hiraishin.

Her original plan was to go to Hashirama’s office, to ask if he could point her to Tobirama or perhaps even wait there until the younger brother showed up. Now that collected thought is forgotten. She remembers hearing Mito, or maybe Hashirama, mention where the white-haired Senju lived once. She goes directly there.

His home is farther from the Senju headquarters than she would have imagined. Almost at the end of the village, secluded from other buildings. The journey does nothing to better the pain in her leg, but the fervor doesn’t disappear as she marches up to his door and knocks loudly.

There’s a moment’s pause. She listens for his voice, knowing him too well to assume that he would open the door for an unwelcome guest before demanding that they announce themselves. If he hadn’t opened the door a second later, she would have walked right in.

He stares at her, startled, curious, and looking very unhappy.

“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be out of the hospital,” he says almost immediately, inspecting the harsh burns along her arms that make him wince.

“What is this?” she demands.

He glances down to follow the point of her finger, only to look away as soon as she lifts the dress up her thigh much farther than she needs to.

“What—” A careful, hesitant survey of her skin, and he sees what she’s referring to. He looks at her, but says nothing.

“Can you take it off?” she asks.

“No.”

“When did you put this on me? And why?” She suddenly realizes the looks she was receiving on her way might have not been on account of her disposition, but rather, his seal placed in such an intimate place. Most shinobi, in the Senju clan especially, were bound to recognize the mark, weren’t they? Is that what had caught their attention?

“Why  _here_? Where everyone can see it?”

He hadn’t been paying any mind to  _where_  he should place the seal when he did, only that it needed to be done. It had been a decision made in haste, in the midst of battle after he found her under the tree. He wouldn’t lose sight of her again, he resolved, and saw no logical reason why he shouldn’t mark her with his seal. Now he sees it was an impetuous, uncharacteristically senseless decision, especially now that he’s facing the wake of her anger.

“When we found you unconscious,” he says. “That’s when I did it.” Her expression doesn’t soften, as if the explanation isn’t enough. He resentfully continues. “The enemy was still pursuing. If it became necessary, I would have sent you and the children off somewhere. Putting a seal on you was more efficient than putting it on another weapon.”

As if offended, her eyes narrow dangerously. He inhales sharply, crossing his arms as he tries to find the right words.

“I didn’t place it there on purpose.”

“I’m stuck with this forever, is what you’re saying. You engrave me, and expect me to walk around like this? Walk around the village so everyone can see?”

He scowls, irritated with her tone, quickly abandoning whatever fleeting thought he had to placate her. “Then wear longer clothes. I’m working. Leave.”

He shuts the door but she stops it with her hand, a strenuous task he notices, by the way she winces. He hesitates, deciding whether or not to slam the door in her face, and glares at her.

She doesn’t know the reason behind her actions. She received her answer; the mark would stay with her forever. Arguing in circles about the dilemma seemed useless.

So she says the first thing that comes to mind. “They told me you were waiting for me.”

He clenches his jaw, but doesn’t let emotion pass over his face. He hadn’t anticipated she would find out. His conviction to stay by her side wavered after running multiple scenarios through his head. Remaining and waiting for her to wake, only to promptly relay the death of her clansman, then suddenly welcome the conversation she had been pleading for, seemed less and less appealing as time went on.

“I was making sure you were tended to,” he says finally.

"But you’re always busy,” she reminds him bitterly. “Why stay behind and wait, when you’ve never made time for me before?”

He says nothing for a long time, just stares coldly.

“You’re right. I’m busy now. Go back to the hospital.“

"I still need to speak with you.”

There it is. “I don’t have time.”

She sighs in resentful exasperation. “Tobirama—"

A sharp pain shoots up her side and she visibly cringes, grasping her leg and cursing under her breath. Blood rushes to her wound again, she can feel it seep into the wrapping around her leg. That’s what she gets for being so riled up, she supposes. She even feels lightheaded.

Tobirama is about to ask her if she’s alright, miraculously forgetting his anger for the moment, but she seems to forgets hers too, and she changes the subject.

“What happened to the others?” she asks, the flush of discomfort not leaving her face.

The transition makes him uneasy for some reason, especially when he can see that she’s in pain. He would offer to help, but something holds him back.

“The man from your clan didn’t make it,” he says, with no hesitation.

No emotions cross her face. She doesn’t yell, she doesn’t frown. There’s only a calm. One he hadn’t anticipated.

“And everyone else?” she asks quietly.

“One of the Hyuuga. Everyone else is safe. The shinobi stopped pursuing us once we came close enough to the village.”

She nods. “I guess that’s a good thing.” Her voice is strained, her calm façade hanging on a thread as the sting of her injury becomes unbearable. Unable to support the weight on her leg any longer, she subsides with a tight sigh and presses against his door for support.

“Go back to the hospital,” he snaps, moving to help her, but he stops himself before he can touch her.

“They discharged me. I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She looks at him and exhales in frustration, breath coming short with the pain that runs through her. “If you need me for a mission report then just tell someone in my clan. They’ll come find me.”

She turns and walks away, and he’s about to argue, insist once again that she return to the hospital, but he knows it would be in vain. And he’s too proud to offer his assistance to get her across the village. He just watches her walk off, pained by the stagger in her steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She barely makes it back to her home, and collapses on the living room floor as soon as she drags herself inside.

Unreeling the bandages around her leg, she finds them soaked with fresh blood. One of her stitches has come loose. Fantastic. It’s not enough blood loss to call for immediate concern, but it answers the affliction of her sudden nausea and lightheadedness.

She’s angry. With Tobirama. With herself. With the shinobi that ambushed them. With the other shinobi that shadow the village and remain as latent threats. She knows the family of the man who died. Did someone tell them already? Or are they leaving that to her? Why has no one informed her of anything? Why does everything feel like it’s falling apart?

As she pries the rest of the bandages off, crusted with dried blood, she accidentally pulls at the sensitive skin underneath and she hisses and curses.

She wants to cry out in frustration. She’s so damn stubborn. Another night at the hospital would have saved her a volume of pain. She should have stayed. She should have been more vigilant back in the woods, should have strategized a quick plan before blindly rushing in and getting herself injured. She wouldn’t be suffering if she had, she wouldn’t have Tobirama’s mark permanently pressed onto her skin.

Then she notices his presence.

Her eyes dart to her side and Madara is standing there, in the doorway leading to her porch. He’s inspecting her, with a chilling expression she’s come to apprehend.

They say nothing. His eyes travel over her body, over the wounds.

“Let me see,” he says, just as she’s about to open her mouth and ask him why he’s there.

Before she can even answer, he’s kneeling down in front of her, and taking her leg in his hands.

She almost pulls away. He glances at the wound, presses his fingertips too deep into her skin until she jerks. He looks at her, almost apologetically.

He doesn’t even ask before he does it, maybe because he doesn’t think she’ll protest, or maybe because he assumes they’re familiar enough, but he bunches the fabric of her dress all the way up her thigh.

He sees the wound. And the hiraishin seal. Anger rushes through him. He glances up at her, cold and silently questioning. It unsettles her, but she has no explanation for him. None that would appease him or make light of the situation. She sees no reason to justify his fury.

His gaze moves back to her leg, dark eyes fierce and displeased. “Next time,” he mutters, “be more attentive of the team to which you are assigned.”

Her heart sinks. He’s blaming Tobirama, when she would be dead if not for him.

“It was a surprise ambush,” she insists. “It could have happened to anyone. We didn’t know—”

“Tobirama is a sensor. An excellent sensor, to his credit. Likely the best we have. So tell me, how did an entire squadron manage to ambush you while he was your captain?” He glances around her home, momentarily pausing his acrimony. “Do you have medical supplies?”

She nods, and motions to a small box that she grabbed on her way in.

“Madara, it’s…” She won’t mention how she’s certain her presence had distracted Tobirama from anticipating the attack. “It’s not his fault.”

“They could have been bringing you back in a body bag.” He takes out fresh bandages, grabs a wet rag and runs it over her wounds. She cringes, but endures it.

“But I’m here. I’m alive. And Tobirama is to thank for that. As much as I hate to admit it, he—"

“Stop moving,” he scolds. And she obeys.

As if he regrets the harsh tone, he stares at her for a long time, before returning back to his work. “Is he also to thank for the death of your comrades?”

That hurts, almost as much as the feeling of the bandages chafing her wound. He’s no medical expert, that much is plain to see, but he’s trying at least. His hands are steadier than hers had been, anyway. “I don’t want to discuss this, Madara.”

Whether he adheres, or he’s too frustrated to continue, he doesn’t say anything else.

A few minutes later and he’s managed to stop the bleeding as well as dress the wound. As he removes the hand that was splayed across her inner thigh, the prickling warmth she felt vanishes. She can’t tell if it’s a relief, or a shameful disappointment.

“You need to rest,” he says as he looks at her. “You were a fool to leave the hospital. Can you walk?“

“Yes,” she blurts out too fast. She knows what he would do if she said no. Carry her? To where? Back to the hospital, maybe, if his thought process is anything like Tobirama’s. Carried to the village hospital by Madara Uchiha, with Tobirama Senju’s seal adorning her inner thigh. No. That’s not something she needs.

He doesn’t believe her, and considers letting her get away with it, but he can’t shake the unease. “Then show me.”

She frowns, but nevertheless, she tries. The moment she puts pressure on her leg and tries to stand, she has to hold in a strangled groan, and slips back to the floor, landing with a dull thud.

He examines her for a moment, hating to see her in pain, hating that she’s hiding it from him. Is it all in a stubborn effort to prove him wrong about Tobirama? What does she have to gain from her own suffering? From defending him?

Wordlessly, he scoops her up into his arms and stands. A protest dies on her lips, and he can tell she’s startled by the way she almost pushes out of his grip. He moves down a hallway to what he assumes is the bedroom, careful not to put any pressure on her leg. As he enters, he pauses.

Flowers, warmth, linen. The room smells like her. It’s almost overwhelming. The room is also clean, like she hasn’t slept there in weeks. He sets her down carefully on the bed, then pulls the covers out from under her and over her body.

There’s a moment where their eyes meet and they stare at each other in silence.

He would never let on to the fact that he had spent the better part of the day worrying about her. Tending to Uchiha business served as a fleeting distraction, but it did little to pacify him. And to hear that she came back from her mission, only to immediately be admitted to the hospital, frightened him. He assumed the worst.

“I need to change out of these clothes,” she says quietly.

His brow rises, but he doesn’t assume too much. She wants him to leave, he knows. To at least retrieve the clothes for her and give her the privacy she needs. Yet for whatever twisted, self-indulgent reason, he lets the awkwardness linger, and doesn’t answer.

“Can you just give me the clothes, please.” The words come with an edge of impatience. “I can dress myself.”

Mission accomplished. He would feel guilty for taking advantage of her incapacitated condition, yet he doesn’t. It’s his way of punishing her for being so stubborn and foolhardy.

She gestures to her drawer and he picks the clothes she requests, then lays them at her side. Afterward they stare at each other, waiting for the pause to die, waiting for  _something_.

“If I leave you,” he begins, “will you promise me to rest?”

“If you were to stay, what difference would it make?”

She likely wouldn’t get much sleep if he were there. Even if he bided his time out in the living room, waiting patiently to tend to her if need be, she would be too riddled with anxiety knowing he was out there to get a good night’s sleep.

“Rest,” he concedes. “You will be better in the morning if you don’t fuss.”

She nods in response, watching him carefully in the dark of her room.

“Do you need anything else?”

It’s unlike him to cater to her so thoroughly. It’s a little amusing, even. But no smile finds her face; no congeniality her voice. “No. No, thank you.”

He nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He says it like it’s a less of a parting gesture, and more a promise.

He leaves her home, a tightness rooted in his chest that stems from frustration and despise. How  _dare_  Tobirama brand her like that? What was he thinking? What right did he have? How could he have been so careless that she returned in such grave condition?

Madara hates it. Almost as much as he hates that for whatever reason, she’s going soft again. Again, he’ll have to treat Tobirama as a threat. As long as she persists with the dangerous, unwarranted trust in the Senju, he will  _always_  be a threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few chapters were probably boring as shit my bad. Things start getting a little more complicated from here on out


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains NSFW content

“________-san?”

Hashirama is anxiously surprised to see her. When he had heard that she left the hospital early, and with no discharge on account of swift recovery, he hoped that she would at least spend time recuperating on her own. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy,” he entreats. “I heard your leave from the hospital yesterday was a little hurried. Are you alright?”

“I did leave before they gave me permission,” she admits. “But I feel fine.”

While his concern is solicited, she’s had enough people pestering her with doting concern in the last twenty-four hours. Her family rushed into her home early that morning, robbing her of a full rest that probably attributes to the persistent ache in her leg.

“Tobirama never asked me to contribute to a mission report,” she says. “But I saw that it was archived already. Did I not need to make a statement?”

“No, he told me it was taken care of. I have it, actually.” Hashirama will have to inquire later on Tobirama’s haste in that matter. It seems suspicious. He picks out a scroll and slides it over the table. “But I’m worried about you. You shouldn’t be up and about so quickly after such a severe injury.”

As he says it, his eyes inadvertently skim over her leg, and he sees it. Alongside a deep scar that has formed on her skin, his brother’s seal peeks out under the fabric of her clothes. It had been a lurking, reticent gossip amongst the medics. Fortunately, Hashirama put down any further talk of the matter before it sprouted and circulated into something bigger, all for his brother’s sake. He knew that Tobirama likely faced enough of a reprimanding from her already. 

Tobirama marked him with hiraishin once. One of his wood clones. It had been a crafty move in the middle of battle, but Hashirama did not find the idea of being permanently branded an appealing one. He can only imagine how disgruntled she must be.

“Will the wounds heal?” he asks.

“Eventually.” Her eyes scan over the mission report, none of the details looking familiar, almost as if she hadn’t been there at all. “The burns can be soothed with oils and ointment. My leg will take longer. But I’m fine, Hashirama.” She looks at him in earnest. “I really am.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m glad. I didn’t expect there to be causalities, not this early on… But at least we have an idea of what we’re dealing with now.”

“Yes. At least something came out of it,” she agrees, but there’s contrite in her voice. To dispel the anguishing thoughts, she focuses on her purpose as she reads over the last of the mission report, finding the new information intriguing. “But are you sure there’s nothing I need to do here?”

“Not that I know of.” Then he laughs a little. “Unless you can convince my brother to take a break from his work. I haven’t seen or heard from him since yesterday. And he was sporting some very awful wounds that he didn’t let the nurses, or me, heal.”

“Was he?” Now that she thinks about it, he did appear rather rough around the edges the day before. “I didn’t know.”

“So stubborn, my brother…”

Suddenly, guilt washes over her. Had he sat at her bedside all that time and disregarded his own wounds? It seems illogical of him. Then again, she didn’t know how his thought process worked those days.

“I can check on him,” she says heedlessly, uncertain of her own conviction.

Hashirama’s eyes shine brightly. “Really?” 

He was under the impression that tension between them was tighter than ever, even in spite of what he saw the day before. His brother would be flustered to find her on his doorstep, and consequently, come to admonish him should he find out he was the one who sent her. 

“On second thought, don’t trouble yourself. My brother is easily disgruntled during times like these. Perhaps it’s better that you—”

“It’s fine. I’ve been needing to speak with him, anyway.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She knocks on his door without hesitation. She would be concerned about someone seeing her at Tobirama’s house so late in the evening, but the thought had already slipped her mind the day before. It’s too late for caution. Determination spurs her. He couldn’t avoid her forever.

Yet when he answers the door, her mind draws blank. His glare beats down on her in a way that has her bristling with uncertainty.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” she says.

He’s inspecting her, she notices. Probably searching for an ulterior motive. “I’m fine.”

She tries to ignore the sharpness of his tone. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

His shirt is open, the bandages around his torso slightly darkened by dried blood. Seeing her eyes drift, he follows her gaze, and quickly covers his wound.

“It needs to be redressed.” She looks at him carefully. “I can do it—”

“No.”

She frowns, and takes a step closer to him. He draws back, inching the door closed, like a warning. 

Silence ensues. She stares at him, suspecting his spite to be a consequence of the way she confronted him the day before. But she wonders if she should even bother trying to trace the source of his acrimony. It seemed she could do nothing to mend it anyways.

“Let me in so I can dress it for you.”

“Did my brother send you?”

“No. I came here on my own.”

“Well, what do you want?” To talk, he imagines she’s going to say. But fortunately, she doesn’t.

“Just let me dress the wound, please.”

Her hand presses against the door, pushing just lightly. His own hand remains steady and unyielding, but some peculiar softness in her expression impels him not to shut the door completely.

He waits to see if she’ll say more, but she doesn’t. When she presses again, there’s no opposition.

Entering his house is like entering enemy territory, she realizes. It’s the only explanation for the abnormal beat of her heart. The place is clean. Spotless, even. Until they reach the living area. Scrolls litter the floor, accompanied by an array of seals. Chakra radiates off the parchment, lingering like steam. What was he working on?

She would ask him, but knows she would receive no clarifying answer. She readjusts her focus, tearing her eyes away from the scrolls to look at him. “Do you have bandages?”

He directs her to a medical kit he keeps in his kitchen, hidden at the back of a cabinet. It’s never been used, she can tell. Apparently he doesn’t allow the medics to mend his wounds, won’t allow his brother to do it, and won’t do it himself. It’s no wonder Hashirama worries so ardently for him.

He watches her with steely caution as she searches for what she needs. He doesn’t like her being there. In his house. In his kitchen. Using his things. It doesn’t feel right. 

She comes back to him with bandages and points to a chair. “Sit.”

The demanding tone is not appreciated, but he obeys nevertheless, not understanding why.

She kneels in front of him, not catching the way he shifts uncomfortably and looks away when she pulls back the fold of his shirt. The injury doesn’t look as awful as she expected; the smell of old blood is nauseating, but the wound itself seems to have healed a decent amount on its own. “Why didn’t you have a medic take a look at this? Or at least your brother?”

“He’s busy. And so am I.”

A quick glance around the room confirms that. “You might bleed to death, if you’re not careful.”

Muscles ripple and tense every time the bandages chafe sensitive skin, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“I would have imagined someone so sensible to be more mindful of his health,” she mutters.

“It’s hardly a cause for concern.” He says it as if the pain doesn’t grip his body with each passing second. “And don’t bother chastising me. You’re the one who decided to leave the hospital without a proper discharge. At least I’m not that foolish.”

She stops wrapping the bandages around his torso and flashes him a sharp look. He returns it just as easily.

She subsides eventually, knowing it’s not the time to bring further ill will to fruition. That she was able to step foot into his house at all is telling of the civility he’s attempting, if there’s any left in him. It would have inspired hope in her, had she not learned to quell her expectations.

After finishing her task, she cleans the supplies and returns them to their place. Tobirama examines his wound. The pain hasn’t ebbed, though he doesn’t imagine it will any time soon. He feels better knowing it’s freshly wrapped, however. He wouldn’t have tended to it on his own until he found the time, or until Hashirama came to pester him.

But he can’t find the will to express his gratitude. As he fixes his shirt, he sees her eyeing the scrolls on the ground.

“What is all this?” she asks.

He considers telling her not to dabble in his business, but he waves away the thought. He doesn’t exactly know why. Maybe saving her the spite is his personal manner of unspoken gratitude.

“Paperwork that my brother isn’t doing,” he replies finally.

She wants to laugh, but the most that reaches her face is a brief smile.

“Well…” She knows she shouldn’t even ask, but a nostalgic feeling takes over. “Do you need help with anything?“

“No.”

The answer comes immediate and firm, and is meant to be final. 

She gives him a look. “You do understand that this is what I do for a living, yes? Paperwork. Reading paperwork, filing paperwork, everything else there is to do with paperwork.” She eyes the seals that still gleam with dwindling chakra. “And whatever else you may need help with—”

“I don’t need your help.”

She frowns, inspecting him with waning patience. Then a moment later she’s reaching for one of the scrolls. In the blink of an eye he’s next to her, prying it from her hands. “Stop it.”

He can see a familiar, stern gleam in her eyes. He’s been in this position before. The last time they were like this… He can still remember the way she screamed at him. How angry she had been. How closethey had been.

Instantaneously, they back away from each other, the memories of their last predicament too fresh and too rousing to ignore.

“It’s the least I can do to thank you,” she says, examining more of the scrolls.

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

He frowns. “Saving you?”

“I read the mission report.” Her gaze returns to him. “You could have left me.”

He folds arms over his chest, silent for a long time until he murmurs, “I didn’t put that in the mission report.”

“No, you didn’t.” She sees his expression harden in grim curiosity, and wonders if she shouldn’t continue, if only to save him the discomfort. “The Sarutobi boy did. He said that I was pulled out from under the weight of a fallen tree, by you. And I’m assuming you’re the one who paused our retreat to the village to tend to my injuries.”

He hesitates to speak, opening his mouth and closing it soon after. The determination in her demeanor tells him she won’t easily drop the subject, no matter what he says.  

“You could have left me,” she repeats, evoking a glower on his face, as if the statement somehow irritates him.

He expertly evades the sentiment behind whatever she was trying to elicit, and tugs at the bandages covering his sore wound. “This isn’t enough of a thank you?”

“That was just common courtesy. And if that’s not enough of a debt owed, remember I still haven’t forgiven you for marking me with your seal.”

Another silence replaces any snide remark he could have easily made. Then he kneels and organize the scrolls at his feet. “It’s getting late,” he says quietly. Then, when she doesn’t reply, his words come much firmer, “I don’t need your help.”

The stubbornness is becoming annoying, giving her a headache, even. She has no intention of arguing with him, or waking another bout of his anger. She fleetingly thought, maybe even  _hoped_ , that he would slip into a more cordial, pliant fondness, the one she had come to enjoy only months ago.

“Tobirama, please. I don’t want to start an argument.”

There wouldn’t be an argument if she would just relent, Tobirama thinks bitterly. Yet, he doesn’t speak those bitter words.

Reaching a compromise shouldn’t be easy. Nevertheless, as he looks at her, at the sincere softness concealed in her stupidly persuasive eyes, he has to subside. There’s no way out of it. 

“Tell me what you touch before you touch it, and don’t read any scrolls that are sealed.” As he says it, those engaging eyes brighten. “It may not look like it now, but I’m sorting this mess. Anything that needs to be signed will go to my brother, don’t bother reading it.”

A good-natured smile crosses her face, one that Tobirama resents. How can she so easily waver between hostility and warmth? How does she make it look so easy?

He runs through the process with her in further detail, explaining which scrolls needed to be sorted and where, which documents called for their attention and which should be set aside. At one point they’re sitting much too close, and he can barely move without brushing against her.

Anxiety fades as the night continues, his instinctive defense faltering as he focuses on instructing her. There’s one moment when he thinks there might even be a transient semblance of the companionship they once knew, back before the academy mess tarnished it. It’s enough to comfort him, in an odd way. But the slit of her dress slips down her thigh at one point and he sees the scar, her burns, his seal. It serves as a grim reminder. And the semblance disappears immediately. 

Not an hour later, he notices her submitting to fatigue. She blinks long and slow, as if her eyelids are too heavy. Even her movements are slow. Instinctively, he means to make a droll comment, but he knows better. Whatever familiarity had been present before can’t be forced. It doesn’t seem right.

He excuses himself momentarily to go seek a book in his room, and is discouraged to find that he’s less anxious when he’s away from her. When he returns not five minutes later, she’s resting her head on the low desk, next to her pile of papers, fast asleep. That didn’t take long. 

He watches her for a longer time than he probably should. Sleep involuntarily placates her. She looks so calm and peaceful. It seems like a shame to wake her, but he has to. 

He mutters her name softly, tentatively rubbing her shoulder. She stirs awake. Fatigue has completely masked her demeanor; she scarcely has the energy to even move as she rises from the desk. “It’s late.”

She hums in response, unable yet to form words, and nods her head.

“Are you okay to walk home?” He realizes how saccharine it sounds only when it leaves his mouth, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Yes. I’m fine.” She nods again, senses returning languidly.

“Then either go back to the hospital, or go rest.”

“Okay.” She’s still befuddled by sleep, obviously. Otherwise, she would have never let him get away with the demand. “Goodnight, Tobirama.” She’s conscious enough to know tension is still present, but deluded enough to believe they could settle with that.

The geniality is surreal to him, but he complies. “Goodnight.”

When she leaves, he examines his living area. The air changed after she left. It reminds him of their times discussing the academy. When everything was simpler. It frustrates him. So much. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some days are better. He thinks he’s amiable with Hashirama, that the ambitious glow of promise and faith he had felt when they were children is still attainable. But times like this deter him.

Madara has learned that there’s little to gain from an argument with Hashirama, yet the arguments come frequent and heated as the weeks pass. The two men come to inhibitory disagreements about the village’s future, and Hashirama’s ignorance fuels Madara’s mistrust with the Senju.

Why is it impossible to shake Hashirama to reality and make him open his eyes? Is he really so absorbed in his own hapless optimism? Even Uchiha, his own clansmen, his own  _blood_ , don’t see the weight of his words when he expresses his doubts about the village. Was he the only one blinded by misgiving? Or the only one seeing the truth that was there?

“Are you alright?” 

Her voice brings him to the present. 

She’s sitting next to him, tired eyes prying, but cautious. Her concern serves as an antidote to his anguish, at least for the time being.

“I’m fine.” His eyes search hers, search the worn edges of her features. “But you look tired.”

As if embarrassed by the comment, she rubs a hand over her cheek, covering her face from him. “I think I’ve overestimated how much work I can handle,” she admits. “I need a break.”

Madara won’t deny that her work with Mito has taken up a significant portion of her time. He still gets to see her, so he supposes he can’t complain too much. But he thinks the pleasant undertaking those seals once offered is detrimental now. The fatigue shadowing her eyes proves that.

“If you work here, and you work at home, I don’t suspect you will find much time for a break.”

She chuckles, but there’s little humor behind it, only exasperation. “I guess you’re right.“

He studies her with skeptical concern. “You are welcome to rest, if you want. The bedroom is down the hall.”

The first thing she does is laugh. “In your bed?”

His expression is curious, but strangely severe, as if he doesn’t understand her humor. “Yes.”

Her smile withers away, slightly daunted by his bleak expression. “No, it’s fine.” The notion of sleeping in his home, in his bed… feels wrong. “Thank you, though.”

He doesn’t reply. His attention shifts back to a scroll in front of him. 

The nonchalance in his expression stirs something in her stomach. Guilt? Concern? Apprehension? All she knows is that tension wraps around her like a heavy blanket, and takes palpable form in the room. 

He takes note of her demeanor, scrutinizing her from the corner of his eyes. He runs his eyes over her, over the fading burns on her arms, over the scar on her thigh peeking out from under her clothes. Then he scowls at the seal pressed into her skin.

It’s a fleeting thought, but it’s just enough to make him heated with undying frustration. The idea of Tobirama touching her like that, to be closer than  _he_  had ever been...

It’s then as his thoughts descend into indecency that she coincidentally decides to dip down and run her brush over a scroll. His position provides an optimal view of the cleavage hiding inside of her loose shirt.

He stares. Unashamed. Unconcerned. He doesn’t even bother averting his eyes until the exact moment that she glances at him. She either doesn’t catch his ogling, or refuses to comment. Honestly, he wouldn’t have cared if she did. He wouldn’t have had an excuse. 

Bothered by how easily his mind is distracted by the sight of her, he puts focus into framing a conversation, hoping it will deflect the suggestive thoughts pooling into his conscience. 

He asks about her family, about her younger cousins. The boy has come more than once to retrieve her from the Uchiha neighborhood, from his own home. An intrusion Madara imagines would normally annoy him, but the smile that finds its way to her face every time she sees her cousin saves the boy from his ire.

Suddenly, as she leans up on her knees to reach for a scroll far across the desk, she hisses through her teeth. She clutches her thigh in pain. 

“Are you alright?” He reaches out to touch her before he knows what he’s doing. 

“It’s fine,” she murmurs, making a strained, half-hearted sound of reassurance. Damn the injury. She often forgot the internal wound would not so easily heal. Caution slipped her mind more often than not. “It just…” She still clutches her leg, and when she peeks open a clenched eye, she sees his hand close to hers.

She looks directly into his eyes, gaze lined with hesitation.

He notices, but tests her prudence, and ignores it. With particular caution, he presses one finger over her scar. “Does it hurt?”

She shakes her head methodically, senses failing her as she feels his touch and only his touch, as if it’s the only tangible thing in the room.

He brushes over the wound again, this time with his entire palm. Her body tenses.

“The scar looks deep,” he says. “I wonder if it will heal well.”

“I think it will. Maybe. Hopefully.” 

Afterward, she’s silent. Her lack of opposition gives him leeway. He pinches the slit of her dress between his fingers and folds the fabric over until most of her thighs are exposed, and returns his hand to where it was before.

His name presses on her lips, but it catches in her throat. Her heart beats dangerously. He has no intention of removing the hand, she sees. It sends her mind reeling, but she finds excitement running through her nevertheless.

He focuses all of his attention on her. The way her breath goes still, her eyes staring right into his and dilating, the sudden tightening of her leg muscle under his palm. And that smooth skin of hers. Smooth and warm, enlivened by his touch; goosebumps flourish beneath his fingertips. 

He brushes his palm farther up her thigh, just to feel the way her skin slides against his. That’s when her mouth opens, and a subtle, but sublime sigh comes after.

Naturally, his body reacts faster than his mind to chase that reaction. 

He experimentally slides his palm up once more until his hand is deep between her quivering thighs, too deep to be anything but bold and dangerous. And there’s only a moment’s hesitation before she spreads them apart just an inch farther.

It’s enough of an invitation for him. 

When he leans in close, she looks nervous, but exquisite; cheeks flushed, mouth open, eyes wide. His lips venture close to hers, just close enough to feel her breaths, and she starts to shiver. 

He presses his free hand against the small of her back and coaxes her forward, and their lips finally connect. 

At first, she’s unsteady, inexperienced, and unable keep up with him. It takes him slowing down—which is a ridiculously strenuous effort, on his part—for her to finally fall into rhythm with the heated fold of his lips over hers. 

His eager fingers explore more of her, tracing the hiraishin seal on her skin with caution. He feels disgusted all of the sudden, but he ignores it in favor of the heat he feels between her legs.

His kisses leave her trembling, broken breaths passing her lips whenever he offers her the chance to pull away from him. Focus returns to his warm palm as it slides closer and closer to the space between her thighs, until he decides teasing does not suit his urges, and he finally palms her over her clothes.

She doesn’t gasp or moan like he had hoped she would, but her breath does catch, and releases in a tight, pleased sigh. The moment his fingers move against her, she forgets about his kisses, unable to concentrate, and her face falls against his, foreheads touching. 

But he doesn’t stop kissing her. He kisses her cheeks, around her mouth, down her jaw, anywhere he can reach because damn it, he had waited to do it for too long now. He would not let the opportunity escape him.

His fingers rub tenderly over the fabric covering her most sensitive spot. He would move it aside—and would also completely ravage her—if he didn’t sense her inexperience still inhibiting her. The knit in her brows tells him as much, as do the fingers suddenly snaking around his wrist and tightening as his hand speeds up.

She doesn’t know what her body is doing, but it feels good. She won’t deny that. She won’t deny the electric heat that sparks pleasure between her thighs every time he puts pressure on her clit. It’s astounding that the sensations are so strong just over her clothes. She has to wonder what it would feel like underneath. His warm hands on her skin, rough and strong. 

Maybe it’s what incites her to spread her legs even wider for him. That’s when his rubbing gets harder and relentless, when the pressure of his fingers floods pleasure through her and she sighs heavily.

“That’s it,” he whispers hotly right against her ear.

She whimpers in response, face drawn tight; choked, scant breaths escape her mouth, but he wishes she would just moan for him. 

“ _Madara_ —”

That broken sound is what does it, what swells the heat through him. Straight down until he feels it in his pants. The hand around her waist pulls her to him until their bodies touch, until he can feel her chest rising with shaky intervals against his own.

He attempts to kiss her again but she doesn’t catch on as enthusiastically as he had hoped. Her movements are weak and half-hearted, and when she loses concentration completely, he settles for attacking her neck with his mouth.

It’s then that she moans for him, and he feverishly pulls away at the fabric beneath his fingers that covers the prize between her legs.

He succeeds, only to find a thin layer of undergarment obstructing him. It annoys him beyond belief. At least he can feel that she’s wet for him, the moist touch caressing his fingers. 

He slips around the fabric and there, the hot, bare, slick skin warms his fingers. He groans quietly against her neck, and she whimpers, the sensation too sudden and too immense.

She grasps his wrist tighter, feels the muscles and tendons working under his skin as he relentlessly rubs in circles around her. “Madara—” she stutters. 

It comes out hot and heavy, he likes it. He feels her body go rigid, and wonders if she’s about to cum. His fingers are practically dripping with her arousal. He would love to taste it. 

That thought in mind, he pushes against her and lays her down on the floor, allowing his body on top of hers, between her open thighs. Panic grips her when she feels the hardness pressing against her inner leg. Every buzz of pleasure within her suddenly goes dark in uncertainty. 

“Madara–”

A free hand slides up her waist to squeeze her breast and feel the weight of it in his hands, then to tug away the folds of her kimono. Part of her chest exposed, he kisses down. Past her collarbone, between her breasts, almost to her stomach—then she shoves firmly at his chest and stops him.

“ _Please_.”

He stills, studying her expression cautiously, but she refuses to even look at him. Her focus is set down between their bodies, cheeks burning at the sight of his hand buried between her thighs. “Please,” she says again quietly. “Don’t.”

His veins pump with blood and wild lust; frustration washes over him immediately. But he doesn’t show it. That wouldn’t be fair of him.

As difficult as it is to pry himself away from her, he carefully removes his hand, despairing at the loss of heat, only able to appreciate the wetness painting his fingertips. As he rises back to his knees, he takes her arms and helps her sit up, annoyed that she seems to be evading him.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and she means it. It had been good. Very good. But the discomfort that accompanied momentary pleasure didn’t allow her to enjoy it in full. She couldn’t do it. Not with him. That pleasure couldn’t exist without harrowing doubt.

They’re still close to each other, close enough to keep kissing if they so wished. As tempting as it is, he does no such thing, only gazes into her eyes, the eyes that won’t acknowledge him. It twists the blade of disappointment in his chest, but he forces himself to fend it off.

“Don’t be,” he says finally.

“Madara. It’s just—”

“You don’t need to give me an excuse.” He doesn’t want her to enforce the… rejection. The word tastes bitter. It sounds silly. But that’s how he sees it.

It takes both of them long moments to quell the beating of their hearts, and she’s the first to separate, inching away from him until she no longer feels invaded by his presence.

A frenzy of heat still attacks his mind, and other areas of his body. He’s painfully hard, but at least the distance she puts between them palpably cuts their intimacy, and it’s much easier to calm himself down. 

Maintaining composure is almost impossible. She tries. She really does. Panic flashes through her when she sees her thighs still in plain sight, and folds the cloth over to cover them. She still feels his lips brushing across her face, on her lips, the pressure of his fingers all over her, and the volition to succumb to the wet heat between her legs.

As if the ordeal hadn’t happened at all, he returns to sorting scrolls before she can calm her racing mind. After a long moment, she mirrors him, and returns to paperwork.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She leaves Madara’s house with guilt ridding her mind. Guilt, excitement, shock, potential, uncertainty—all condensed into one boorish ball of turmoil, and she still doesn’t know how to recuperate.

What stood as the most unsettling aspect of it all was the fact that they had continued the night normally. Reading through scrolls, entertaining occasional, casual conversation. As if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t kissed and as if his hands hadn’t touched her in such intimate places. Perhaps it’s better that they didn’t let the acknowledgement linger.

Forcing unwelcome thoughts out of her mind, she tries to sleep that night with no avail. Every minute that passes forms a dull weight in her body and she tosses and turns, twisting under the sheets to rid herself of the feeling. 

Nothing gets the warmth of Madara’s hands off of her skin. If she concentrates and breathes deep enough, she can catch a hint of his lingering scent. The dark, powerful smell of leather, maybe even herbs. Maybe ash. 

Recalling the events has her sighing in frustration, or perhaps nostalgia. She can’t decide, an everlasting dilemma that she’s certain will stay with her longer than she wants it to. His haunting touch and those surly eyes, they’ll never go away.

She doesn’t know if she likes it or resents it.


	9. Chapter 9

"Who is it, Madara?"

“Hashirama—"

"Tell me!”

The Uchiha rolls his eyes and exhales heavily. This isn’t what he wanted, or needed, that day. Hashirama’s quaint persistence isn’t funny, it just furthers his annoyance. 

Other than the fact that they had a rather heated debate the day before, Madara has additional matters pressing his mind, and Hashirama is fixing to suffer because of it, if he doesn’t resign his foolishness. 

“Madara,” Hashirama says again, this time adopting a more intent, serious tone, as if it will make him sound any less trivial. “I’ve been hearing rumors and I have to know the truth.” 

“You  _have_  to know?” It’s likely the only thing he finds amusing about this. He smirks. “Maybe you should mind your own business, Hashirama. They’re exactly that. Just rumors.”

“Well, I’ve been a little curious myself, lately. You came in here the other day smelling quite nice. Like flowers. Very feminine, I must say. Unless you’ve taken up new bath oils, I suspect you’ve been spending time with a woman.” Hashirama says it with a mischievous, enthused smile. 

Madara’s face falls to a frown. It’s none of his business. Friend or not, Madara sees no reason why he needs to disclose any of that information to Hashirama. “You should spend less time worrying about my scent, and more time worrying about the daimyo’s requests.”

“That’s not fair, Madara. Why hide it from me?”

“There’s nothing to hide.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Would it make you happy if these rumors were true, Hashirama?”

“Very!”

There had been humor lining Madara’s tone, but Hashirama’s enthusiasm basks the atmosphere in tension once again. Before he can think of a counter, there’s a knock on the door. Hashirama allows the visitor in. As soon as she enters, her eyes move to Madara. 

“Good afternoon.” Hashirama smiles at her. He rarely sees her these days unless he comes across her and Mito at work. It’s nice when she drops by.

“Good afternoon.” She bows just slightly out of instinctive respect, and her eyes expectantly glide to Madara more than once. 

“What can we help you with?” the Senju asks, not deciphering the hesitance in her eyes. 

“Nothing in particular,” she admits, but knows such an excuse won’t stand. She lays a stack of reports on his desk. “I came to deliver these to you.”

“Ah, thank you.” He runs his eyes over the report, pleased. She and his wife had managed to work through so many seals those past few weeks. It was a relief to see them on official academy records. They had come a long way. “Thank you for helping Mito like you do."

She smiles faintly, still unable to accept his gratitude as sincerity even after so long. But that’s not what stifles her demeanor.

When she makes no intent to leave, or speak, Madara catches on. “Hashirama,” he says, eyes still on her. “Any news on the team sent out near the mountains?”

Hashirama seems a little thrown, but not quite suspicious. “No, not recently. It was only meant to be a day trip. Perhaps they encountered some trouble with merchants. So far nothing.” 

Madara watches her for a reaction. He can’t tell whether the news relieves her or furthers her concern. 

Hashirama suddenly has a blink of realization. “One of your clansmen was sent on the mission, is that right?”

She nods, and swallows down her nerves, as if hearing it makes the reality all the worse. “Yes.” 

“Well, I’m sure we’ll have an update soon.” He senses the worry in her tone, but he would rather not voice any comfort, seeing that she’s on edge. He’s sure Madara would chastise him for it, anyway. His hasty enthusiasm didn’t always help. 

“It’s only been half a day,” she insists, though it’s false assurance for herself. “It will be fine. Forgive me for disrupting you. Please tell Mito to send for me if she needs any more help.”

“Of course.” Hashirama smiles. And she leaves faster than he would have liked. 

Madara catches the grim shadow on her eyes as she turns, though she doesn’t look at him. And he stands right after she’s out the door. 

“I’m going to step out for a moment, Hashirama,” he says.

“Oh? Where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer. 

Hashirama almost protests, but then, as he watches Madara follow her, he thinks he has the answer to his earlier interrogation. He smiles.

The Uchiha calls for her just as she reaches the bottom steps of the entrance. 

She turns at the sound of his voice. “Madara.”

“How are you?” 

It’s a simple question, only meant for formalities. If her expression isn’t enough, the way she rubs her arms and fakes a smile tells it all. She’s worried, and probably anxious. 

“Fine, I think.” She nods as if to confirm it, to convince herself. But he sees past it. 

That morning, he had to stop her from practically breaking down when she heard the news. A spontaneous team needed to be assembled and sent out. Of the available shinobi in her clan, her cousin volunteered. It would be his first time fighting for the village, and she didn’t know how to handle it. 

She had seen the violence outside of their borders, not so different from the violence they experienced in war. Of course she was scared, terrified that her cousin may not come back, as so many others didn’t those days. 

She had confessed to him all of her fears, cried a decent amount, apologized for the trouble of it all—and by the end of it, he had rested a hand on her cheek to pacify her and practically demanded that she pull herself together. It felt like such an innocent gesture after the way their previous interaction had left off, but her panic seemed to clear with his help. He’s at least grateful for that.

“I haven’t heard any news,” he tells her. That had been the main reason he tolerated staying with Hashirama most of the day, to hear any reports as they came in.

“It’s okay. Thank you, anyway.” 

"You're welcome to stay in the office if you would like. I'm sure Hashirama wouldn't mind the extra company."

She smiles at the annoyed tint in his voice, but it’s an uneasy smile. A forced smile, like it hurts her to do so. Besides her worry, she’s still unable to process what had happened between them. The way he touched her, felt her, kissed her. If her cousin wasn’t her first priority, she would be reeling with anxiety from the incident. "It's fine,” she says. “I think it will be worse if I'm constantly on edge. Maybe I’ll see if Mito needs anything." 

“She’s resting,” he reminds her, tone pointed. She was the one who had told him that Mito needed a day off in the first place. That she had forgotten isn’t surprising. It’s likely the nerves. “As you should be. It’s not good to get so worked up."

He would feel bad for shooting down her initiative, but he would rather her not approach Mito or anyone else. If anything, he wants her by his side. He would like to be present to witness her relief when good news comes in, and comfort her in the case of the alternative. But he won't push her.

"I suppose I'll just go back to my aunt’s house, then.” But even that sounds hesitant, not at all confident.  

"I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything."

She nods, smiling just a little. "Thank you, Madara.”

He nods, but as they depart, an uneasy feeling tugs in his chest. There are too many things going on at once. It’s almost becoming unbearable. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tobirama is with his students when an attendant comes by relaying that Hashirama needs him. He would wave him off, suspecting it was just his brother being his brother and seeking distraction in company, if the attendant’s face hadn’t been torn between nervousness and sobriety. 

When Tobirama arrives at the office, he can feel the distress in the air. He sees his elder brother’s eyes and tries to understand the discomfort and pain obscuring them, trying to gather what he hasn’t already inferred. 

“The mission failed,” the younger Senju assumes. 

Hashirama frowns and nods. Tobirama exhales heavily. 

Upon reviewing the roster of shinobi to be sent out on that morning’s impromptu mission, a certain young boy's surname caught his eye. Tobirama had been waiting with bated breath the whole day, some part of him hoping that all would go smoothly, that there would be no casualties. But another logical, experienced part of him knew that was a heedless thought. And here they were. 

Hashirama’s grave voice is full of grief. “No survivors.”

Tobirama had expected that, but it made it no less disheartening. He hated to hear the truth out loud, because he knows what it means. What it means for her, especially.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Madara who tells her. 

He practically demandsthat Hashirama not send anyone else. It would be difficult to see her broken up, but he wanted to be the one to do it. A distant thought of his figured that another shinobi would lack the sentiment she needed.

When he goes to tell her, she’s still at her aunt’s home. He expected as much. The mother needed to be informed as well, he knew. But he wasn’t there for the mother. 

She opens the door before he even has a chance to knock. And he tells her without wasting a breath, watches the light leave her eyes and her mouth fall open in awful anguish. 

But she doesn’t cry. She says nothing. Only nods, thanks him, and shuts the door. 

He stays there watching the door for a long time, then leaves, hating himself. Hating himself for not saying sorry, for not trying to comfort her more, for letting her shut in her emotions. He could have done so much more. 

~~~~~~~~

There's an inclusive funeral for those who were lost in the mission. It's grim, and even more harrowing to her that her cousin can’t even be offered his own ceremony. But she knows it’s only rational. She knows it’s because turmoil is stirring now, deeper than ever. These bodies, or what was left of them, won’t be the only ones filling the new cemetery. More death is inevitable. They couldn’t mourn every single one. 

It's not until after the funeral that she cries. When everyone leaves, she stays behind and watches her cousin’s grave marker. She hadn’t seen his body. She wonders if he was even whole. Maybe that's what makes her cry, the savagery and bleak nostalgia of having nothing to bury. She wonders what her cousin must have felt in his final moments. Barely the age of seventeen. Leaving his little sister at home without an older brother. A mother without a son. 

It's war all over again, and whatever peace the village had attempted to inspire was slowly crumbling. 

She's kneeling before the markers, reading over the name engraved over and over again, when a heavy feeling tugs at her. Her family had left, aunt on the verge of tears, trying to calm her last living child as she bawled. She doesn’t want to face them for some reason, but she know she can’t stay there, staring at the grave as if it will make the pain disappear. 

She stands to her feet with effort and realizes that she’s still crying. She wipes her eyes, and when she turns to leave, he’s there. 

The sky is stroked with dark clouds that forebode rain, and under the lack of sunlight Madara looks bleak as ever. His expression is somber, but laced with something softer. Grief, she thinks. 

He hadn’t been able to attend the funeral. It had been toilsome enough to finish his work and get there to at least see her. And seeing her—it’s awful. Puffy eyes, dried tears, a sad acceptance to her. 

"I'm sorry,” he says. And he means it. If it's even a fraction of what he felt when Izuna died, then that's enough. 

She opens her mouth, but no words are spoken. There’s only the needlelike pain in her face as she tries to keep from crying in front of him. She didn’t even know where they stood at that point. She wouldn’t be vulnerable with him. She didn’t want to be. But she fails. 

And when her face twists like she’s about to cry, his feet move on their own and he takes her into his arms gently. She accepts, despite her confusion. 

He feels how tense she is, like she’s still trying to hold it back. She exhales a  shaky, broken breath, and it sounds so awful to his ears. Then he feels the little tremors of her body as she concedes and silently cries into his shoulder. 

They stand alone in the graveyard, the wind picking up and blowing leaves across the grave markers. He strokes her hair because he can't resist touching her in some way. The urge to comfort her is overwhelming and he can’t remember the last time he was so moved by emotion, so moved by the unadulterated need to take away someone else’s pain. But he can’t do that. No one can. Not him. Not the village, like he and Hashirama had wished. Nothing seemed to be working. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

And he says it again. "I'm sorry."

 ~~~~~~~~~~

If Hashirama hadn’t insisted he do this, then Tobirama likely wouldn’t have. 

There’s a reason he’s never been the one to deliver to families the news of their loved one’s deaths. Tobirama doesn’t have the room for sentiment in his heart when calloused experience has filed that void. Death was death. He had known that all his life. 

But as he approaches the steps to her aunt’s house, he finds he’s struggling to find fruitful, careful words. Anything that will placate the severity of the situation and hopefully, soothe her, in some way. 

He hesitates to knock. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to avoid the discomfort, to avoid the confusion he feels when it comes to her. The thought frustrates him, and he knocks anyway. 

He imagines that surprise is the emotion he sees cross her face when she answers the door, but it’s difficult to tell. She looks dispirited and worn, too many nights of crying taking away the usual liveliness of her features. But she’s still alert by his arrival, nonetheless. She hadn’t expected him. 

“Tobirama,” she says, voice limp, absent of the annoyance he had somehow anticipated. 

Tobirama considers the situation logically, because that’s all he’s ever known. She must be deep in the stage of grief. Maybe even anger. He can see it under the illusion of her calm facade. But does that mean the anger is directed at him? Perhaps it was circumstantial, and anyone in their grief would be less than happy to be interrupted. He suddenly feels like it was a mistake to come. 

“Is everything alright?” she asks when he remains silent.

“I know this is sudden and inappropriate,” he says, “but I wanted to give you my condolences.” He keeps his voice quiet and sincere, an attempt at his brother’s congeniality, because that’s all he can reference at that point. It doesn’t seem to work, judging by the anguish still in her face. 

His eyes are drawn away from her soft face to the space behind her, down a long hall, where a familiar little girl shifts into view from behind a wall. 

Even her little cousin’s expression is bleak. A drastic, saddening change from the joyful impression she had made on him. All spirits are perished here, he sees. It does make him lament, in a way.  

An older woman's voice calls to the little girl. The aunt, Tobirama presumes. The older woman sees the scene at the front door, looks right at him with a kind of tired caution, but she understands it’s a private moment, and carries her daughter away. 

Then Tobirama focuses on the woman in front of him. She looks weary now. 

She realizes then that he hadn't attended the funeral. Hashirama did. So did Mito. They both offered condolences. She would be offended that the man decided to show up now, after it was too late. But she’s too fatigued. 

"Thank you,” she says.

What else does he say? Following normal procedure, he would offer her some sort of solace, perhaps that her cousin had no doubt served the village well, done his duty as a shinobi. But knowing her, that’s the last thing she wants to hear. 

"Is there anything you need?” he then asks. “You and your family?”

The tone is so unlike his cold austerity. Instinctively, she thinks to suspect him, but that wouldn’t be fair to him. Tobirama is capable of sentiment. She should know that better than anybody by now. 

“No, we're fine. Thank you, Tobirama.”

He nods, releasing a breath that doesn’t alleviate the tightness in his chest. There’s a brief moment where he almost leaves, but punctuality isn’t needed at that moment. Still, the air of apprehension clings to her. While he knows there’s little he can to to mitigate it completely, easing her pain is a goal set in his mind. 

“By the way, my seal…” He doesn’t look at her as he says it, doesn’t even look at her leg because he realized recently she had in fact taken his spiteful advice to wear longer clothes. It shames him, in some way. “It’s irremovable. I’m sorry.”

Well, she knew that. He had made it quite clear. Looking at the pattern now, she feels nothing. It means nothing. It's part of her now. But his apology, however overdue, still means something. 

"I understand."

It should give him relief, but it doesn’t. 

After that, there’s nothing more to say. And he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter 
> 
> we love killing off plot fodder
> 
> little time skip after this. let's say a month or two


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi shit starts hitting the fan rn so yeah it's a little intense

Hokage.

Someone to represent the village. Someone to lead and protect. All that Madara had ever wanted. 

Admittedly, as Hashirama spoke of the idea, Madara’s ambition took first priority. The idea excited him. Perhaps presiding over the village and enacting policies he found suitable would quell the unease constantly fluttering in his mind.

As of late, he felt control of everything was out of his hands. Hearing that bastard Tobirama convince Hashirama to leave the Hokage position up for an election did nothing to reform his suspicions. Tobirama had not only succeeded in manipulating his brother, but Madara was well aware of the scornful rumors and lies about the Uchiha that snaked their way through the village streets. Rumors and lies that came from Tobirama’s mouth, no doubt.

Madara was no fool. The seniors of the village would rather seek another option all together than elect him as a representative for the village. Hashirama is the viable option. The Senju are the viable option. The Senju, who killed his brother; Tobirama, who killed his brother. Tobirama, who Hashirama will listen to with falsified and twisted faith. Madara didn’t understand. They were brothers, of course. But did that mean Hashirama had to be so blind?

Madara had no brothers left. And despite what Hashirama claims, becoming Hokage would not change that grief. Izuna is still dead. Tobirama is still breathing. Madara will have to live with that. He’ll also have to live with the alliance he made to cultivate their village, something that appeared fruitful and rational at the time. Now, Madara finds himself wondering much too frequently whether or not that decision had doomed his people.

He made a promise to Izuna to protect the Uchiha, yet as the days go by, he feels as though the village,  _Konoha_ , will not provide them a safe haven. Especially not if Hashirama becomes Hokage.

It’s what fills his mind with anxiety for days. He sits in his home, isolated, shrewd, letting the doubts fester, until he understands matters must be taken into his own hands. Madara was reaching his breaking point, and at a swifter pace than he previously imagined. Anything he did from that point on, needed to be done for a purpose. For the people he wanted to protect. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Among the chattering that revolves around talk of a potential Hokage, she hears something much more pressing throughout the village.

Madara Uchiha hasn’t been seen in many days. It’s a whisper in the wind in comparison to Hokage gossip, but it’s what resonates with her. Enough to have her delaying paperwork and taking a detour to the Uchiha side of the village.

Approaching his house has always been nerve-wracking, in a way. She could feel the eyes of Uchiha on her with every step she took, and could never tell whether it was disdain or curiosity shading their prying glances. That apprehension doesn’t go away when she arrives at his house and sees him, like it usually does. The shroud of tension around him puts a dead weight in her chest.

Something is wrong, she knows that much just by his rumored absence. Work with her clan had become rapidly strenuous in the course of just a few days, and she hadn’t been to see him since. What had happened to solicit his behavior? What wasn’t she seeing? What wasn’t he telling her?

She inquires on the problem as they look over paperwork, asks what’s bothering him, only to receive a bleak, cursory glance.

“Nothing.” Then those bleak eyes are running over her form. “Are you eating?”

She frowns, suspicious and frustrated with the misdirection. “Yes.”

He mirrors the frown, not liking how she looks so displeased. “You could have fooled me. You don’t look well.”

“Thank you, Madara.”

“You know what I mean."

His voice is firm and punitive, but no reply comes. It fuels the latent fire burning within him. It’s becoming much more difficult to quell that fire, especially when she’s in her impertinent moods.

“You know better than to neglect yourself like that,” he continues.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy with Tobirama. Yes. I heard.”

This time her frown is dangerously punctuated. She shouldn’t have expected anything less than scorn from Madara.

Through Mito, she had learned Tobirama needed assistance assigning missions and ranks to shinobi, as requested from the daimyo. Most of her afternoons were spent sorting and delivering files to Tobirama. She would have gladly explained to Madara that her interactions with the Senju were fleeting—they  _barely_  spoke more than a sentence to each other during their exchange of paperwork—and that work with her own clan is what occupied most of her time, but she knew Madara wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t change the fact that she still obliged Tobirama’s needs.

The only credit she can give Madara is that his little snide remark is the only one she had received from him on the subject. So far, he remained reticent with his complaints.

“And what about you?” she asks him, annoyed with silence. "You never tell me what you’re up to these days.”

Ah. He was wondering when she would pry. He should have never let on to the fact that he was working on a… private project.  _Uchiha business_ , he had called it so many times before. Yet she never seemed to believe him. And if she did, she wasn’t settling with such a vague avoidance anymore.

“As I mentioned before, it’s Uchiha business.”

Her heart clenches at the words. “Ink is all over your hands, Madara. What have you been doing?”

His eyes purposely avoid hers. His voice is simple and arcane. “It’s nothing.”

A frustratingly exclusive excuse that seems to loop through her head so often those days.

She reached for a scroll in his lap once, only for him to move it away with haste.  _“It’s nothing,”_  he had said.

And again, one day she found him reading an old transcript embedded with the Uchiha symbol, and undecipherable, unfamiliar writing scribbled across the paper.

_“What is this for, Madara?”_

_“Uchiha business, obviously… That’s all.”_

He would never give her a clear answer. One time, he had been so frustrated by her prying that he snapped at her to leave it be. His prompt apology appeared meaningful, but it didn’t compensate for the genuine malice she had seen in those dark eyes for a fraction of a second.

“What kind of Uchiha business?” Her eyes move to his bedroom door, where she knows his secret must lie. He often left for periods of time to shut himself in the room, returning with more scrolls or less scrolls than he had gone in with. There must be something he keeps hidden away.

“It’s nothing,” he repeats firmly, following her gaze, not liking the onset of her dangerous curiosity.

“Are you going to keep secrets from me now?”

He eyes her curiously, gravely, annoyed with the twinge of audacity in her sweet voice. “It would do you no good to know. When the time comes, I will explain.” 

And the foreboding promise in those words is what unsettles her the most. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Not a second after she enters her clan’s side of the village, an envoy says the clan heads want to see her.

She thinks nothing of it, expecting they want reports and gossip. The updates had been frequent as of late with talk of a Hokage. 

But when she arrives, the clan heads are sullen. Two of them, brother and sister, by no means cruel-hearted, but stern with age most definitely. They treated her with a certain amount of respect, given her late father’s high ranking in their military. But she would never be anything more than child in their eyes. A child fit and spry and obedient enough to follow their orders, and practically run the clan for them. That much was obvious.  

For the most part, all they do is as she suspected, ask about the state of the clan, the village, any interesting developments that needed to be shared. Nothing noteworthy comes to mind. Nothing she felt she could share with them, anyway. 

They thank her for her time, but just as she makes to leave, it’s the old woman’s voice that stops her. 

"Something has been on our minds,” she says, grey hair pulled back perfectly in a tight bun, making her gaze seem all the more scrutinizing. 

She listens carefully to her superior, unbothered by their habit of getting straight to the point. “Yes?”

“How do you feel about the Uchiha clan head?”

Her heart pounds hard, but she placates herself. It was a question. Simple and easy. 

“Madara Uchiha is a good leader,” she says. Somewhere, she wonders if it’s a lie. 

“Is that all?”

She’s confused then. What were they looking for? “I think he’s a good man, politics aside.”  

"Well, given how often you rendezvous with the man, we would have thought you had more to say,” the old man speaks this time, voice hard. 

She bites her tongue. All her fears come to fruition at once. It was what she had never wanted. Her friendship with Madara, however troubled, was never meant to be turned against her. 

“We are good acquaintances,” she half-admits. They don’t seem to believe her.

The old pair share a look, but ease themselves, despite their suspicions. 

“That being said,” it’s the old woman again, “whatever you two may be, you are aware that we as clan heads will take part in choosing a representative for the village, this  _Hokage_.” 

She can guess where the conversation is going, but she wishes she had never come, suddenly.

“You are a friend to the Uchiha, obviously,” the woman continues. “But you have also spent significant time with the Senju.” There it is. “Which would you pick to lead this village, between the Uchiha leader and the Senju leader?”

There’s their frailty again, contradicting so grossly their previous condescension. She knew it. They couldn’t make a decision. They had no idea what to do with the power to choose. She imagines their decision was a difficult one to make. A choice between the two most powerful men in the village. Gain favor with one, lose it with the other. It was always a game to them.

But she has no answer. She can’t decide. Not now, when she can barely pull her own rationale together.

“It is your decision,” she says. “Not mine.” They don’t seem happy with the answer at all, but before they can protest, she asks, “May I please be excused? I have a mountain of paperwork to finish.”

Their displeasure is still present, but at the idea of taking her away from duties that would serve their clan, they concede. “Very well then. You’re off.”

When she leaves, she tries imagining Madara as Hokage of the village. As the protector, the leader. But for some reason, what would have before been a clear, exciting vision of the future, is clouded by uncertainty. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Her cousin pulls insistently on her sleeve to maneuver her to her liking, and though she obeys, the urge to scold her is there. Perhaps the subdued family grief holds her back, not wanting to reprimand the child when enough meddlesome thoughts probably riot in the young girl’s brain already. She has no brother anymore. Even as a child, she could understand that. 

Taking her cousin out into the village had been a means to distract her own thoughts. Was it selfish? Perhaps. But it was done in charity, too. Not just to satiate the little girl’s hyperactive tendencies, but if only to give her aunt the solitude and rest she needed.

Her clan head’s inquiry remains on her mind the entire day, as it had been for many days before that. Part of her didn’t want to even think about it. The other, knew that putting her personal qualms aside and providing sound advice was her duty to her clan, and to the village. But it seemed impossible. 

Her cousin leads her to a bakery down one of the village streets, the sweet smell of fresh bread making the temptation hard to ignore. She gives the young child money and permits her to buy what she likes, about to warn her not to fill up on sweets before dinner time, when a trio of Uchiha men in the adjacent tea booth catch her attention. 

The words  _Madara_  and  _Hokage_  drift to her among the bustle of the streets. She knows she shouldn’t pry, but with her latent anxieties about the Uchiha beginning to materialize into a problem bigger than just the two of them, she feels it’s prudent she listen. 

“Madara-sama will not sit quietly now that the vote seems to be in Hashirama Senju’s favor,” one of them says.

“If it comes to that, we will have to accept it,” another answers, voice gruff, but  subdued. They all seem that way, as if apprehensive to speak their thoughts out loud, afraid someone will hear. “And so will Madara.” 

There’s a silent understanding between them, she can tell that much by the ambiance. The same man, much older than the others, sighs in frustration. “Madara grows more anxious and unpredictable by the day. A Senju becoming Hokage will not remedy that.”

She wonders how the man can so easily disparage their clean leader, in public, without remorse. She supposes it’s his twisted sense of seniority. 

“His concerns for the clan are valid,” a younger one says, but he doesn’t look entirely convinced. “But a line needs to be drawn between concern and paranoia.” His voice carries off at the last part, hushing his blasphemous thoughts. 

One of them is about to reply, when he catches her looking. He goes silent. Subsequently, so do the others. Then they glare at her collectively. She wonders if it’s because they’re aware of who she is, or simply because of her eavesdropping. Both perhaps. 

Uchiha are bold. They don’t tear their eyes away. They wait for her to concede. And she does. 

Her little cousin tugs on her legs as she pries the child away from the sweets. “Carry me.”

Normally the woman would scold her bad habits, but she obliges anyway, too focused on pondering the words she had just heard, terrified of what suspicions they confirm. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tobirama holds his niece in his lap and allows her to pick at his fingernails. She had a habit of examining them. And biting them. A curious but insolent child. Just like her father.

“Can I hold her, sensei?” Koharu asks him. 

“No. She’s much too wild.”

Koharu pouts. “Hiruzen got to hold her.”

“That’s because I’m more responsible.”

Koharu frowns and Hiruzen grins. 

“Enough, Saru,” their sensei scolds. “Both of you go join Homura. You’re leaving him to do all the work.”

The shier third of their team struggles to pull kunai out of the many wooden targets they had managed to hit that day. He murmurs a complaint under his breath, barely loud enough to hear under the wisp of wind sneaking between the trees. 

Any other day, Tobirama would have been against babysitting his niece, but with Mito and Hashirama going on a diplomatic trip—and Tobirama made sure it was diplomatic only— Tobirama took up the role of babysitter until they came back that night. That day, he decided to give his team a lax routine of training. They have the girl in his lap to thank for that. 

“Why don’t you have babies, sensei?” Koharu asks him, wiggling a kunai from the splintered wood of a practice dummy. 

Tobirama scoffs. It’s not something he ever considered before, only when Hashirama teased him about such things. And he never took that seriously either. “I have you three to worry about. That’s enough for me.”

“We’re not babies.” Koharu frowns. 

Tobirama looks at her with a curious, amused raise of his brow. “A majority of the time, no.”

“I think your babies would have your white hair.”

“And the marks on your face,” Hiruzen inputs. 

“Those aren’t inherited,” Koharu argues. “Stupid.”

Tobirama listens to them argue, amused by the naivety, content with it all. He doesn’t even mind his niece trying to teethe on the scroll he’s reading. 

“Fine!” Hiruzen exclaims suddenly. “Then they’ll look like the person sensei marries.”

“Hashirama-sensei says you’re married to work,” the girl says to him. 

Tobirama has to smile.

“But if Hashirama-sensei is going to be Hokage,” she says, “wouldn’t he be married to work too?”

“Yeah,” Hiruzen agrees, smirking. “He can’t be married to Mito-chan and his work. He has to pick one.”

Koharu either doesn’t understand the joke, or she thinks it’s in bad taste. “You’re stupid.”

The third of their trio gives up on working, seeing that Tobirama isn’t going to enforce it that day, and comes to sit amongst them. 

Koharu pouts after failing to remove a kunai sunk deep into a practice dummy, and gives up on her task as well. Tobirama doesn’t stop her when she moves in closer to offer his niece her finger, which she takes and bites promptly. 

“If you had to pick between romance and your job, what would you do, sensei?” Koharu asks. 

“You’re all very prying today,” is his only reply.

“Any good shinobi would say work, obviously,” Hiruzen says confidently, as he tears grass from the ground, bored, but ever curious to pick his sensei’s brain. “Tobirama-sensei doesn’t have time for stupid stuff like that.”

“It’s not stupid,” Koharu insists, frowning. “Is it, sensei?"

Tobirama hums. A reason he hadn’t been so strict on their lesson plan was because he needed to survey the village while his brother was away. He had been infusing chakra the whole day. Sensing chakra for kilometers was a doable but tiresome routine, and he focuses on one chakra in particular wandering around the village. One he’s memorized so well.

“I don’t know," he admits, voice quiet, eyes looking at the words on the scroll, but not seeing them. 

His mind is a mess as he thinks about it. How stupid indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She goes to his house only with the intention of retrieving a scroll she had left there, but she can’t shake the words of the Uchiha men out of her mind. All rationality insists against it, but there’s no use in combating the curiosity, the need. 

Madara is hiding something. That had been evident for a long time now, but to hear his own clansmen speak with such doubt, such apprehension… something was going on behind closed doors. It would be a danger to him, to his clan, possibly the village. She couldn’t sit back and let that happen.

She knows he’s at the Uchiha office now, away from his home. He spends most of his time doing actual work there now, which leaves his house vacant. No attendants, no envoys. He liked to keep his abode private. 

She enters his home cautiously, knowing she needs to keep everything the way it was unless he notice the smallest disarrangement. Not that it’s going to matter. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she’ll confront him and there will be no need to hide her curiosity. 

She’s never been inside of his bedroom. Entering, she’s surprised by its unkemptness. Madara is normally organized, tidy, one to keep all things orderly. It must be a reflection of his demeanor lately. 

She doesn’t know where to begin. There are many scrolls lying around, a kunai or two, a book on his bed. That’s the only thing untouched, she notices. The bed. Folded and neat. She wonders if he had found any sleep in the past weeks.

One pile of scrolls at the foot of the bed catches her attention. They’re not official documents, but they seem to be his own notes, scribbles of undecipherable language written down the parchment. She thinks it suspicious, but he would never hide a secret out in the open. Knowing Madara, he would stow it away in an unthinkably covert place to hide from any and all eyes. He was too clever to make it that easy.

It’s dark outside, very little sun illuminating the room as it sets. She would light a candle if she weren’t sure Madara would detect the lingering scent, or notice the wax had leaked farther than he had left it. 

The last place to look is in his closet. That’s where she finds it. 

His father’s prized katana sits atop a wooden display. In its sheath it’s beautiful, and almost distracting enough that she doesn’t spot the sealed chest behind it. She reaches for it and carefully maneuvers it out. When she flips open the lid, there’s nothing but medical supplies and spare ink and a quill. It takes her a clever reconsideration to move the junk aside and lift the false bottom, and there it is. 

A large scroll, entailed with neat, unfamiliar writing. She recognizes only a few words. It must be a translation. Everything else, she can’t decipher it. 

She takes it out of the box, then a commotion from the other side of the house stills every muscle in her body. 

It’s only a fraction of a second before she can move again, but it’s too late.

The scroll is ripped out of her grip, a strong hand snakes into the fabric of her collar and yanks her backwards. She lands hard against the floor and glances up at him fearfully.

“What are you doing in here?” His voice comes low, and grating, and dangerous. A shade similar to the cold expression on his face. 

It’s only when he sees the terror in her eyes that he relents his tone. He had felt her chakra outside the house, and knew it was her on instinct. Anger twisted into his mind immediately upon seeing her intrusion, and all he could think of was betrayal. But seeing her now, it hurts to think that way, and he’s about to help her to her feet, but she moves away from him.

She stands on her own and glares at him. “I’m just trying to find out what’s going on here, Madara.” He detests the pain and confusion that sharpens her voice. She points to the scroll in his hand. “Is that what you’ve been working on? What is it? Why are you keeping secrets from me?”

He examines the scroll in his hand, conflicted, then carelessly throws it on the bed. “There’s nothing here for you to find. And what I do is none of your business. Did Tobirama send you? Hashirama?”

“No,” she persists, angered he would even ask. “Would it make sense if they did? Would they have reason to? Are you hiding it from them too?”

“I don’t want you in here.”

“What are you hiding from me, Madara?”

“I already told you—”

“I don’t believe you. I heard Uchiha talking about it, Madara. Whatever you’re planning, whatever you’re doing, you can’t—”

He grabs her wrist in an unforgiving grip and hauls her out of the room, even as she resists him and tries to plant her feet into the ground. It’s no use fighting him, and by the time he shoves her out the front door, he’s practically dragging her. 

“Do not come here again,” he snaps at her, expression cold and unforgiving. He slides the door shut before she can protest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her mind pleads one thing; her sentimentality, another. She stopped trying to decide between the two a long time ago. 

“You might imagine where our votes stand, but as advisor, we do respect your decision as well.” The clan heads seem aware of her displaced demeanor. “If you have any objections...”

“No,” she says, voice sounding so quiet. She knows who they favor, and knows they assume she would choose the contrary. A month ago, maybe she would have. But not now. “I agree with you. My vote is for Hashirama Senju.”

Regrets doesn’t find her heart. She thinks— _knows—_ she’ll rest better at night with Hashirama residing as Hokage over the Village Hidden in the Leaves.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains darker themes than previous chapters
> 
> Physical violence, mainly. If anyone thinks I need to mark it as abuse as well, please let me know.

****“Would you like some tea, Tobirama?”

“No, Mito. Thank you.”

“It’s cold out tonight, warm team would do you good.”

“Something to eat, too,” Hashirama persist from across from table, downing the food his wife had made for them with gusto.

Tobirama won’t deny the savory smell, but he has no appetite. “Since when did you two become my parents?”

It’s harmless, he’s even entertained by it all, it seems. Hashirama smiles, encouraged by his brother’s seldom tenderness. “We’re only concerned, Tobirama.” Then he yawns loudly and obnoxiously, and Tobirama finds himself adopting his elder brother’s fatigue, and rubs his tired eyes.

So many deadlines and issues to solve in such a short amount of time. Tobirama doesn’t remember ever doing so much work in his life. Organizing an election, assigning people to missions, dealing with the daimyo, an influx of students to the academy. All of this, and Tobirama knows there’s still no rest in his future.

“I can serve you a plate, Tobirama,” Mito offers again.

Tobirama glances at his sister-in-law, and sees that she’s no less exhausted. Carrying both a child and the burden of village work to alleviate her husband’s stress did not do well for her. He wonders how she’s still on her feet after all of it.

“No, thank you. I have to go home.” He forces himself to stand and only then realizes how his tired muscles ache for respite.

“Yes, that’s also good.” Hashirama yawns again. “Get some rest.”

“ _You_  get some rest. I don’t want to have to come here in the afternoon and drag you out of bed, again.” He nods at Mito. “You should rest as well. You need a break.”

Mito smiles graciously. “Goodnight, Tobirama.”

When he leaves, Mito looks at her husband curiously. “Was that not odd to you?”

Hashirama peers over at her through heavy eyelids. “Odd?”

“He’s always been irritated by persistence,” she explains, pouring hot tea into a cup and bringing it over to him. “He was quite docile.”

Hashirama chuckles as he accepts the cup, sounding weary, but pleased. “He’s in a particularly good mood. I won’t ask him why, though. I’ll have to wait to figure out his secret.”

Mito smiles at her husband, feeling a little sorry for him, mostly because she thinks she already knows the reasons behind Tobirama’s change. It’s been clear for a long time now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tobirama doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to meet the sheets of his bed. His body and mind are spent, but thoughts still keep him awake, beckoning his concern and attention.

The state of Konohagakure and its affairs… he thinks about that name.  _Konoha_. An interesting name, he would give Madara that credit where it was due. He was a founder of the village, after all. As long as he didn’t take the title of Hokage, that’s all that mattered to Tobirama. Which he won’t.

Still, the mantle of relaxation that had warmed him vanishes at the thought. His brother would be Hokage. The leader of the village, and presumably the entire land at some point. It meant he needed to be ready, too. Ready to be at his side with a clear head and steady advice now that challenging times were inevitably ahead of them. One power rising would incite others to do the same. In gleeful inspiration or fearful competition, regardless, they would rise.

He’ll need to remain as Hashirama’s advisor, sharp and stern. He’ll pull his own weight, and his brother’s, if need be. He has to put distractions out of his mind. He has to put her out of his mind.

He remembers their days collaborating on academy affairs, how amiable they had been. They used to argue about ridiculous things to pass the time, like what color to make the village uniforms, or where the newest bakery would be built. She always said it needed to be in the market square, with the rest of the recreations. He had said he didn’t care, yet he still argued, just for the sake of it.

He thinks about how silly it all was. He thinks about her smiling and laughing, and finds himself smiling just a little too. He thinks about their... little accident in her clan’s library. His accidental touch, her smirk that had irritated him to no end. He feels hot embarrassment run through him, but the little upward tug of his lips still persists.

But he felt her happiness dwindling as of late. Their brief encounters while exchanging paperwork told him as much. And he didn’t need to guess why. He doesn’t doubt for a second that the tension still clinging to her is Madara’s doing. It was always Madara. 

He doesn’t trust the Uchiha. Not at all. Doesn’t trust him to keep her out of his schemes. He’s proven in the past that using her as a means to realize his hatred for the Senju, for  _him_ , was no remorseful task. Tobirama would never forget the way Madara seemed to turn her against him.

Yet if his confidence is for naught, and there’s something genuine between her and the Uchiha that he can’t see past in his ignorance, then Tobirama knows he has no right to ruin it. Not unless he wants to trouble her further. The thought makes him angry, and afflicted. But the thought of letting it continue behind closed doors, not knowing if Madara’s intentions were true or not, not knowing if she was truly suffering because of him, ate at Tobirama profusely.

So a decision arises, one he so often contemplated. He either has to put it out of his mind, or have the conviction to do something about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kagami always knew he felt different from the rest of his clan. Since the day he was old enough to hold a kunai and old enough to be told whose blood needed to be shed, he never felt right. Even when he had joined the village, worried and apprehensive of what it would mean for him, for his family, for the clan he had been raised to revere, it never felt right.

But now he calls those he had once been expected to battle his friends. He plays with them, trains with them, dines with them, as if their ancestors hadn’t been battling one another for centuries. There are no enemies in the village. They were all the same tribe. The anxieties he had felt growing up seemed eased now in a way he never thought possible. For that, Kagami is thankful, thankful he has the chance to rigorously train in order to protect the village that welcomed his newfound hope.

The steadfast loyalty expected of him as an Uchiha was the only thing that impeded his peace. There were still many elders of the clan who did not entirely agree with the alliance, everyone knew that. However, Kagami learned to quell any dubiety and serve both the village and his clan equally, without a word of complaint. 

Which is why it’s so easy for him to overhear clan dilemmas when they rise. It doesn’t happen often since they’ve come to the village— _Konoha_ , he keeps trying to remind himself to call it, but often enough that he catches it one day while in the Uchiha neighborhood.

It’s in a tea shop. One of the shopkeepers is gossiping with another man who Kagami faintly recognizes as a general to their Uchiha military. They’re speaking about the clan, as far as he can tell. He slips closer, pretending to admire a shelf of sweets as he tries to listen.

Kagami is old enough to decipher their underhanded jargon, the way their hushed voices keep the gossip they share under wraps. He hears the name  _Madara_. They’re speaking of the discourse he’s causing, the arguments that occur in their clan meetings that have the majority speaking against his ideals day after day. Kagami leans in closer.

The shopkeeper seems unsettled. “I had heard he was causing trouble, speaking ill of the village, but… what if Hashirama Senju hears of this? If he becomes Hokage, will he consider it treason?”

“I don’t know.” The general’s voice is quiet and diffident, yet stern. Kagami continues to pick through tea cakes and pastries, going perfectly unnoticed. “He doesn’t trust the Senju. Madara-san never has, and perhaps rightfully so. But he’s going about it the wrong way. He’s going to reflect badly on the clan while he tries to follow his own delusions.” His voice is quietly angered then, and he crosses his arms. “He wants us to rally together and...” He scoffs, and takes a sip of his tea. “Who knows, at this point. It will die down soon enough.”

“And what if it doesn’t?”

“It will cost us our place in the village, likely.”

Kagami’s skin crawls with anxiety.

Their conversation molds into something else after that, on account of waving away the fear and uncertainty, Kagami assumes. As soon as he confirms that they won’t notice his departure, he leaves and senselessly, his feet carry him to the academy.

Tobirama looks like something is on his mind when Kagami knocks and is allowed into the academy office, but when he approaches, he sees he misplaced the emotion.

Tobirama looks serene, if anything. Something the young Uchiha isn’t quite used to seeing. Fortunately, and Kagami has always been proud of it, Tobirama’s gentle demeanor doesn’t fall when his eyes land on him.

“Kagami,” he says, neither curious nor impatient. If anything, his presence seems to be a pleasant surprise to the Senju. That would also make him proud any other day, if he didn’t have such grave news to deliver. It almost seems a shame to ruin the ambience.

Kagami is glad that Hashirama isn’t present, or it would have made him much more hesitant to speak ill of his own clan, one Hashirama seemed to admire so much. But the young Uchiha’s voice comes determined as he speaks. “Tobirama-sensei, there’s something I think you should know.”

It’s then Tobirama’s eyes narrow, and he lowers the paper in his hands to offer full attention. “What is it?”

Kagami swallows any doubt, and decides it will be his first move to prove his loyalty to the village. “It’s about Madara Uchiha."

~~~~~~~~~~~

An entire year’s worth of seals finished, and she can’t remember ever feeling so exhausted. She’s proud, nevertheless, but she thinks she could sleep for days. The only thing keeping her lofty is knowing she’ll get to deliver them to Tobirama. He always seemed silently impressed by her work ethic. It was a small triumph she often looked forward to.

She’s about to head to the academy, gathering all the seals she can manage in one trip, when the door to her porch is thrown open. Instinctively she whirls around, heart racing, and Madara stares at her with cold eyes.

Before she can vehemently accost the intrusion, he steps in and slides the door shut behind him. A shiver runs through her. She remains completely still. His eyes tell nothing, don’t betray his rigid facade. 

"Where were you?" he demands.

"What do you mean?" The faintest trace of a scowl on his face makes her go still again. 

"Last night. Where were you? I came here and you were gone."

"You came here?" That fact would be amusing and curious, if not for the suspicious aura. Part of her thinks to lie, just to save them from an inevitable argument. But she doesn’t have the energy. "Tobirama and I were—"

"Tobirama.”

She frowns. "Yes. Tobirama. I’m wrapping up my efforts with my clan to provide for the academy, you know this. I was simply reviewing inventory—”

“Of course. Because that’s what you’ve been doing every day.”

That annoys her to no end, but she won’t entertain him any further. “What are you doing in here? What do you want? You can’t just come in here like this, Madara. You can’t just—”

“Don’t preach to me about home invasion.” He rubs his face with a gloved hand and inhales deeply. The frustration seems to leave him then, replaced with a discomforting weariness she hadn’t noticed before.  

She’s uncomfortable, on edge, but less angry now that she sees he’s not in the best disposition. “What's wrong? What do you want?” she asks again, softer. 

He crosses his arms and looks at her, for the first time really taking note of her apprehension, the sleeve of her shirt riding up her elbow, discoloration spotted along her wrist. 

“I hurt you,” he says, little emotion in his voice. She detects no animosity anymore. His eyes might have even softened a fraction.

Not long ago, his statement would have provoked some sort of sentimentality in her, but it only reminds her of what happened. When she doesn’t answer, he comes closer. But she doesn’t back away. 

“You’re suspicious of me,” he says. Less of an inquiry, more of an acknowledgement.

“How can I not be?”

“I have my business, you have yours. You have no right to go snooping around.” If she sees the Uchiha tablet, if she knows of his concerns, of his plans… she won’t abide by any of his ideals. He knew that. To hope for anything more was foolish. In that case, she doesn’t need to know about it. She had no business trifling in matters that were his responsibility. 

“I have no choice when I know you’ve been keeping secrets from me,” she insists.

“It’s for the better.”

“How would you know?”

“I just know.”

She frowns. She won’t mention overhearing the Uchiha talk about the trouble he was stirring, not again. She doesn’t even want to think about it. It would anger him, she knows. She doesn’t want to risk that.

“I think you should leave,” she says, almost regretfully. “I have work to do.”

“For Tobirama?”

She frowns. “Yes.”

When she tries to move to the door, he steps in front of her. She just stares at him, and tries to move again. This time he puts a hand out to stop her. She swats it away, and he retaliates by taking her by the chin and pressing her back into the wall. She doesn’t fight it, though her body screams at her to hit him, kick him, do  _something_.

“Is he the one putting these suspicions in your head?” he asks. “When will you learn to think for yourself?”

"I am thinking for myself.”

"You don’t owe him anything. You don’t owe the Senju anything.”

“And what? I owe  _you_  something? He seems to be making a lot more sense than you these days, regardless.”

Her heart races when he almost seems to be thinking about it. She considers it too. He had done a lot for her since she first joined the village. He had been a guide, a friend, and even more intimate than that at certain points. But none of it softened the suspicion inside of her. 

Her gut tells her to move away from him, but when she tries, he only moves closer, crowds her against the wall at her back. 

“You’re naive,” he says, darkly and disdainfully. 

“Call it what you want.”

He huffs in exasperated amusement. He’s tired of her games, tired of his own tangle of emotions. 

When he says nothing for a long moment, she parts her lips to speak, and he presses his own against them hastily. He doesn’t know where the urge came from. To keep her from speaking more folly, to feel her—a mix of both, maybe. Despite herself, she accepts it.

But the kiss isn’t like what she had experienced before. Hunger isn’t the right word. Greed, power, and even anger, anger that wasn’t entirely meant for her. He was only projecting it. She resented him for it, but she’s unable to stop. A part of her, weak and hopeful, knows that she can’t resist his touch. 

His lips stop conquering hers for just a moment and she turns her head away to breathe. 

“Wait,” she gasps out, lips moist and bruised. His fingers grasp her jaw and align her back with his lips, but a hand against his chest makes him pause. Still, he won’t move away. Her hands twist into the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t understand, Madara.”

“Of course you don’t,” he mutters. “No one does.” Hashirama. His clan. Everyone. No one could see what he did. 

Something keeps her from running right then and there. Desire, she thinks. Feeling his lips on hers again was a nostalgic wave of emotion and excitement, but the uncertainty is still there. Indulging him never came without a price.

She looks at his face, at his lips. He must think it’s an invitation. That same weak part of her knows it was. But when he considers moving in to kiss her again, she shoves at him. It doesn’t seem to startle him, but his grip lessens just enough to let her slip away from him.

“Enough,” she begs, keeping a hand out to ward him off. The sight hurts him, somehow. Seeing how ardently she rejects him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re the one being ridiculous. You have every reason to hate the Senju. They’ve given you nothing but grief. Yet you think _I’m_  debased for standing against them.”

“Standing against them?” she asks in disbelief. So the Uchiha gossip had truth to it. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“This village is going to die from the inside out if nothing is done,” he told her. “Surely you can see that. Turmoil from neighboring clans. Political contention. This isn’t what the village was meant to symbolize.”

“You’re thinking too much, taking it out of proportion,” she pleads. 

“And you aren’t thinking at all,” he counters, and takes a step toward her. She backs away. He tries again, tired of the rejection. “Are you even aware of what is going on within this village?  _Outside_  of this village, even?”

“I am.” Her voice is filled with anger now, dormant spite. Whatever idea she had to keep her wits about her is gone. “I’m aware of everything that’s going on. You’re hiding something.  _Planning_  something. I’ve heard the Uchiha talking. I know what you’re doing. Something akin to treason. What would happen if Hashirama found out about it? Tobirama? I’ve had it in my mind for days now to go tell them.”

It doesn’t seem to affect him like she hoped it would. There’s no fear in his eyes, just the ever rising threat of anger. He’s studying her curiously, suspiciously. “What have you heard? What do you know?”

“So you are hiding something.” She evades him, keeping her distance when he moves to her. “What is it?”

“Answer my question first.”

“No.”

“What have you heard?” he repeats, angrier this time. 

She steps back into a corner, trapped. Even then, she holds her ground. “I won’t say if you don’t—”

The hand that wraps around her throat isn’t deadly, but unforgiving. The breath she tries to suck in doesn’t come easily. She grabs at his arm in shock. 

“What were you looking for in my home?!” he demands, furious. “How did you know where to look? Was it Tobirama? What does he know about this? What have you told him?”

She shakes her head to the best of her ability, eyes wide. “Nothing,” she whimpers. Her entire body goes into a panic. Every kunoichi instinct she has dies at the notion that the man before her, one she considered a friend, would be doing this. She desperately prays that flicker of hope that always seemed to remedy his madness would return to her. But there was nothing. Nothing to blind her from his absurdity. It was real. It was him. 

She chokes out a plea, and by that time, he’s already horrified with what he’s done. He lets go, and she gasps for air, feels the burn from her throat slowly ebb away.  

He just looks at her, sad and infuriated all at once, an apology a far thing from his mind. The hand that was around her throat seems alien to him. The anger, all directed at her, seems so alien. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. 

“Just go,” he says, lost and depleted.

When he moves away from her, she doesn’t stay to reply. She goes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her feet carry her far and fast and she doesn't notice until they’re sore and aching, but by then she’s already strayed to the Senju office, suddenly stepping in without knocking, without even addressing herself.

Tobirama pulls his eyes off of the paper before him, ready to scold Hashirama for surprising him. But he stops when he sees her. His eyes sharpen as soon as he notices her demeanor, notices the chakra clinging to her.

He says her name.

She doesn’t answer, out of breath. She hears him, but she doesn’t answer.

He says it again, tone harder. "What happened?”

It’s enough to pull her attention, but her thoughts are still scattered. "What?”

She sounds so vacant, so lost. Like she’s been utterly horrified. And that's the confirmation he needs.

“What happened? Where is he?"

She can’t speak. She actually waves him off and shakes her head distractedly as she kneels, pulls scrolls from her bag and begins sorting them into the nearest cabinet, methodical and anxious. 

He scowls and repeats. " _What_  did he do? And don't lie to me.”

Her brows furrow like she’s offended, but she can barely register his anger. “It’s nothing.”

He stands from his seat, anger going through him in a rush. “It’s  _not_  nothing.” The way he seethes it is what finally breaks her out of it. 

“It’s  _fine_ ,” she snaps, glaring at him.

“What happened?” he asks again, much firmer. He’s closer now, right at her side when she stands to reach the top cabinet, scarlet eyes stern and prying.

Then they harden like steel. She doesn’t know what he’s looking at, but it’s not her eyes. Then blood rushes to her cheeks when she realizes. The ring of red around her neck, fresh and dark. 

She hides it with her clothes and hair but Tobirama still stares, then he catches the swell of her lips, recently bruised. 

He works his jaw, and his tone is careful, but hiding a wave of indignation. “Tell me what—"

“It’s nothing. It's fine.” Her voice sounds forcefully calm, too simple to be anything but masked desperation. “It’s none of your business, Tobirama.”

“It is my business.”

There’s nothing she can say. All she knows is that he’s too close and her thoughts too wild to bargain with him then. 

She leaves before he can catch her. He shouts after her, furious and stern, but she ignores it as she bolts out the door.

Hashirama almost topples over her as he climbs the steps to his office. She recoils, disheveled, visibly upset. Even in the dark of the night, he thinks he sees the gloss of tears in her eyes. He can barely get her name out of his mouth before she pushes past him without a word.

The second he walks into the office, Hashirama sets about his younger brother, seeing no other reason why she would have left so distressed. He knows their history, knows his brother had no remorse when it came to the effect of his temper. He must have been the culprit to her tears.

Tobirama had been confounded and angry before, but once receiving Hashirama’s sudden, disciplinary reproach, his anger soars. “I did  _nothing_ ,” he insists, more infuriated and volatile than Hashirama expected. “Where is Madara? Go interrogate  _him_  if you want answers.”

“What? What are you talking about?” 

“What just happened? Madara’s doing. I had nothing to do with it.”

“What are you talking about, Tobirama?” Hashirama’s offense is momentarily abandoned, replaced with uneasy suspicion. “What does Madara have to do with this?”

Tobirama’s chest rises and falls with unbridled anger, and he runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to tell Hashirama what he saw. Not at the risk of running in loops with his elder brother, like they did so often. Blaming Madara, defending Madara, laying blame elsewhere, inventing weak excuses. Hashirama’s cloud of optimism and insensibility was unmatched. Details of the incident would make it worse, Tobirama knew. Yet the image sticks with him. The wounds around her throat, the remnants of the Uchiha, on her lips, too. The thoughts enrage him. 

“Madara needs to stay away from her,” Tobirama says simply, fury dissolving, frustrated futility taking its place. 

“Tobirama,” the older Senju speaks, voice low and prying. His brother’s words never gave room for unspoken intent. He was always to the point, always one to speak his mind. But this was different, Hashirama knew. A piece to a puzzle that had been his younger brother’s emotional dilemma for so many months now, one Hashirama had been dying to solve. “What is this about?”

“Are you really so blind, brother?” 

It’s a callous question Hashirama has heard before, so it doesn’t strike him like it should. “Not completely, no.”

Tobirama glares at him, uncertain whether to take it as a humorous attempt to split tension, or to spite him. “You don’t see what’s going on?”

“I see what’s going on with you.”

Tobirama frowns. He doesn’t at all like the tone of his elder brother’s voice. Sharp but aware, dangerously factual. Hashirama was annoyingly perceptive when he needed to be.

“I know that the two of them are close,” the elder begins carefully, and Tobirama immediately scowls. “But that doesn’t mean you have to—”

“This is not about that.”

“Don’t be so suspicious of Madara just because of her,” Hashirama begs him. It feels like a breath of fresh air now that he can say something about the matter. “That isn’t fair to her. To them.”

_Them_. Tobirama is disgusted. “I am not being  _suspicious._  I am being cautious. You don’t see what Madara does to her? You didn’t see the evidence just now?”

“And you did?”

He points to the door. “The way she just ran out of here? His chakra clinging to her? Don’t pretend you don’t see what’s going on, and I won’t pretend like I can’t hear you and Madara bickering constantly. You know he forebodes nothing good. You know the anger you don’t see is projected onto someone else. You would let her to suffer because of it?”

It puts fear into Hashirama’s heart, the simple thought of not knowing, of being oblivious to atrocities that might have been stirring out of sight. But he shakes the thought away. “Madara is not what you make him out to be. And… I can’t speak on their relationship,” Hashirama admits, voice losing its determination, underestimating himself now. “But he wouldn’t do anything to harm her, I know that. You don’t see him the way I do—”

“That’s exactly my point. You only dictate based on what you want to see. You want to base everything on your own twisted narrative. Does the evidence before you mean nothing? Do you not realize that even his own clansmen can sense the danger? Does what Kagami Uchiha told us mean nothing?”

Hashirama’s mind flashes with anger at that, only because he had been putting it off ever since Tobirama told him. Uchiha secrets, unrest, mistrust. It seemed so abhorrent. Perhaps the boy had heard wrong, perhaps words had been misconstrued. Hashirama couldn’t think on it then, not with so many other matters pressing him into distress.

“You know the truth, brother,” Tobirama continues. "The longer you let this carry on, this worse it will be."

Hashirama hones in on his brother’s eyes, the anger and hate behind them. “This is ridiculous, Tobirama. I’m not the only one who dictates based on what I want to see. Madara will always be a villain in your eyes. He always has been. If anything, I think you are the one taking out your anger on her.”

That simple statement offends Tobirama more than he imagined it could. He scowls. “If you would stop being such an oblivious idiot for one second, you would see that Madara is stirring trouble. Do you know how many times I’ve seen her in the past weeks, afraid, disturbed, unhappy? And do you see how secretive he becomes day by day? Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

So it is all about her. Hashirama is suddenly sympathetic. He knows the extent of his bother’s hatred for the Uchiha, he’s never undermined that. But this frustration is fueled by something more now. He thinks of the day in the hospital, after the failed mission, how Tobirama stayed by her side. He even thinks further back, thinks of Tobirama’s bargain with the Sarutobi and Shimura, how he haggled to give her clan more resources. A devotion and consideration Tobirama never offered to anything or anyone but his work. Hashirama can’t overlook that.

He sighs. “If you truly are that worried, I will ask Madara.”

Tobirama says nothing at first. Hashirama thinks in relief that it might have quelled his anger, but he’s wrong.

“You think asking him will do you any good?” he inquires, incredulous, but somehow defeated. “He will lie. And you will believe him."

Hashirama stops his brother as he tries to leave, catching him with a firm hand to the shoulder. “Tobirama—”

“No.” Tobirama shrugs him off, too tired to continue, too tired to make his glare any more potent. “You are going to be Hokage soon, brother.” Tobirama knows Hashirama doesn’t like hearing it, but it’s unavoidable. As he leaves, he turns over his shoulder only once for one last, grim reproach. “You need to learn to see the truth before then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to make Madara look like a bad guy, but if canon is any indication, he acts out in violent, volatile ways when he's distraught. His little spiral into paranoia and uncertainty about the village was probably a lot to deal with
> 
> Again, based on what we see in canon, I didn't think the way he acted out in this chapter was too ooc. Scary and bad, yes, but hopefully not ooc
> 
> And I hope the tension between the founders trio themselves was decently played out? I imagine Tobirama was always on Hashi's ass when it came to Madara's antics near the end of his time in the village. Everyone was a damn mess of anxiety and mistrust and doubt, probably


	12. Chapter 12

She replaces the flowers on her cousin’s grave. Her aunt so rarely leaves the house now, and until she settled with the grief, someone needed to consider the maintenance.

It’s a nice distraction, too. A peace amidst turmoil. Turmoil so great that biding time in a cemetery seemed an easier task.

Then someone calls her name. She glances over her shoulder. Hashirama stands a polite distance away from the grave, a somber smile on his face. She hadn’t seen him since the night she left his office in distress… she couldn’t quite remember. A week ago? Two weeks? The memory embarrasses her. 

“Hashirama. Good afternoon."

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he begins sheepishly, but his smile erases any offense she might have taken. “I hate to bother you during a time like this."

“No worries,” she says, standing, gathering wilted flowers to dispose of later. “I finished what I needed to do. How can I help you?”

“Well…” He thinks, uncertain how to segue into what’s necessary, though it’s been plaguing him relentlessly. “Would you like to get some tea?”

“Tea?”

He nods, smiling. There’s no distrust behind her hesitance, only uncertainty of what’s to come. She considers Hashirama a close acquaintance now. A proud fact, but he  _is_  still Hashirama Senju. She wonders what could possibly be so pressing that he would seek her company outside of a formal setting. 

She obliges nonetheless, and they settle into one of the nearest shops, conversing about the village, about the weather, his usual pattern of congeniality.

It’s only after he orders them tea that the atmosphere changes, and she can see his fingers drum along the table in trepid anxiety. He looks at her, tries to decide how to put his concerns into words while uncertainty weighs him down.

His start is not at all calculated, rather blurted out in frustration and inability. "Is Madara okay?"

Her eyes rise in surprise, but her reply comes just as impetuous. "I don't know."

Hashirama didn’t know what he expected, but for some reason, the ambiguity is more troubling than a definitive answer. 

"He... likes you,” he says, for lack of potency. “I know that. More than he seems to like me these days.”

He smiles sadly, and chuckles without humor. There’s an angst there that's been at the back of his mind, she can tell.

"You've known him longer than I have,” she speaks to mend silence, and his wounded confidence.

“True." His smile is slightly brighter then, as if the reminder placates him. "We've always had this problem, too. But it feels different now.”

“What problem?’ she asks, only realizing afterward how forward it sounds. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“The village was our dream when we were kids,” Hashirama speaks, a reminiscent tone glossing over the tension of the situation. “We would talk for hours and hours. I thought actually attaining our dream would help Madara get over the death of his brothers. Izuna, specifically. And it worked for a time, but…”

The small inquiry alone is much more than Madara has ever let on to. He had mentioned their childhood dream, briefly. He spoke little about it, as if the memory welcomed dubiety. It makes sense to her now.

"Do you think he's changed?” Hashirama asks cautiously, sadly. He’s seeking solace in her answer, she knows. Just by looking at his eyes, she can tell he’s hoping for something that will remedy his doubts.

Slow, and stiff, like she never wanted to admit it, she nods.

"So do I.” No hesitance in his voice, but pain. “I think the way the village is progressing is bothering him. But I hope it’s just a mild impasse. Things are rushed, I understand that. So, maybe it will all go back to normal once it all slows down?"

“Perhaps if you encourage him.” She smiles like she wants to believe it. If he read her close enough, he could tell she didn’t.

“I hope so, too. But, I have to ask. And I hope I’m not prying, but are you two... alright?”

As advisor, as a negotiator, she’s always learned not to let on to emotions when something was on the line. But even someone as careless as Hashirama can read apprehension in her features, and knows the question provokes something unpleasant in her. He understands now the severity of the situation. Just in the last ten minutes alone, all the signs are clear. 

He saw it the moment she rose from the grave and approached him, the pleasant smile contradicting the fading traces of foul play around her neck, poorly covered by a change of clothes. He didn’t know what exactly had happened, but he could make many guesses. Still, his confidence in Madara’s morality keeps the truth at bay, never fully accepting it.

“It’s like you said,” she tells him finally, “he’s not pleased with the way the village is progressing, is all. We’re…” She has no idea what to say. “It’s going to take time. Nothing to worry about."

“No.” The sternness of his voice startles her. She suddenly feels like a child being scolded. He takes a deep breath. "If I'm going to become Hokage, I take responsibility of every person in this village. And I want to make sure that whatever is bothering Madara, whatever it is about the village that concerns him, isn’t becoming your concern either. He shouldn’t be projecting it onto you. I know how he can be… that he can…” His thoughts seem to shift into something unpleasant, like speaking the words will confirm all his fears, so he shakes them away. "He trusts you. And because he does, he might confide in you. In the wrong ways.”

That’s as close as he’ll get to speaking what should be spoken, but she understands well enough.

It's obvious to her that Tobirama said something about the night she rushed into the office. Hashirama is dancing around the subject, but there are more than enough indications. He knows. But what is she supposed to say? What will happen if she tells him what she’s witnessed? It would only distress him, something she would feel guilty for. It would put stock into Tobirama’s anger, give him reason to vilify Madara, and perhaps the Uchiha as a whole. Too much on the line to spill a truth she doesn’t even fully understand. Too much confusion for her to pick sides. 

She sighs, perhaps in defeat, perhaps in desperate uncertainty. “Sometimes he just…"

Tobirama throws aside the curtain in the doorway of the shop and steps inside, looking very unhappy. How could he not? The new Hokage was biding his time running around the village, sipping on some tea while he should be working? No. Definitely not. He would give the fool a piece of his mind. 

But when Tobirama sees her sitting across from his elder brother, the anger subsides momentarily, then rises again for different reasons.

“What are you doing?” Tobirama carefully asks as he approaches.

“Nothing.” Hashirama’s voice is chipper and surprised, knowing he’s been caught. But he’s also guarded, not forgetting Tobirama’s harsh words and anger that remain unresolved.

“You’re supposed to be speaking with the Yamanaka clan today,” Tobirama reminds him. “Soon. Now, in fact.”

Hashirama’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really? No, no… that’s not until later.”

“Later for you is too soon. I would leave now.”

“But...” He glances at his companion nervously. “I’m having tea.”

“Now."

Hashirama detects no room to argue. He detects something else too, an unspoken demand in his brother’s eyes.  _Whatever you’re doing here, stop it_ , they seem to say. And Hashirama would protest, but it seems only natural to leave the burden to his brother now. 

Hashirama returns his attention to her and smiles. “Forgive me. I seem to have lost track of time... Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” He says it all while patting his pockets for change, which he does not find.

He clears his throat, feeling flustered, and smiles sheepishly at his brother. "Would you care to pay for my drink?"

Tobirama visibly flutters with anger. “You’re Hokage now and you've still managed to lose all your money?"

"It's not my fault. The children of the Sarutobi clan are very good at gambling."

“Just go."

He obeys without another word and stands to leave, but as they pass each other, Hashirama sees more of the anger in his brother’s eyes. He wasn't supposed to go to her. If anyone was supposed to be confronted, it was Madara. Hashirama could sense his disappointment.

“I’ll see you, then.” Hashirama nods at her one last time, a flash of concern in his eyes that she almost doesn’t catch. She nods and smiles back, then he’s gone.

Tobirama picks coins from his pocket and leaves them on the table. She methodically stands and prepares to leave, about to thank him for paying and wish him a good day, just to leave the apprehension as soon as possible. But no. He wouldn’t let her go that easily.

“I would like to have a word with you,” he says. “Outside.”

She looks at him, analyzing the calm in his voice. There’s no need to think into it to know what conversation—what  _argument,_ will ensue. But she nods, knowing there’s little way to avoid it if Tobirama Senju demands it.

When they’re alone in a quiet alley by the shop, he can speak freely. He wonders how foolish his brother has to be to talk of important matters over some tea, like it was such an easy, permissible subject.

"When was the last time you saw Madara?"

“Why?"

Judging by the wary look on her face, he suspects his brother didn’t mention it. "He’s been absent. Frequently. Much too frequently not to draw attention."

“It’s been…” Since he kissed her, and hurt her. Which seems so recent, so fresh, yet she hadn’t seen him once since the incident. He was ignoring her, avoiding her. And if Madara Uchiha didn’t want to see someone, it would be so. 

“A long time,” she finishes. “I haven’t seen him recently.” She won’t be more specific than that.

“You may be keeping it from my brother to save the sentiment he holds for Madara. But I hold none. None at all. Whatever Madara is doing—”

"You shouldn’t pressure your brother when you know his emotions are involved. And it's not your concern, either.”

"If he’s doing something behind our backs, then it’s your duty to tell me.”

She frowns. “Duty?”

"My brother is to be Hokage. A position Madara assumed right for himself. I know he’s resentful of the outcome. An outcome brought about by village democracy. It’s only natural that he would be lashing out. Against the villagers who voted, even.”

“What does that have to do with me? What makes you think I know—”

“Stop.” His voice tells her that he doesn’t believe a word of her evasion. She’s never heard it like this before. Serious, but empathetic. “I saw what he did to you.”

His eyes flicker to her neck, but she’s hiding it again. Not well, but at least the marks are fading. He assumes Hashirama saw them. “I’m no fool,” he continues. “Whatever relationship you and Madara have, or had, it’s no excuse for his behavior. Don’t try to defend him, don’t make excuses. If you know he’s acting—”

“He’s not going to be Hokage,” she replies simply, looking away. “What say does he have in village affairs anymore? It shouldn’t matter now.”

“That doesn’t negate him as a threat. His movements are dangerous. He’s been colliding with other clans, other villages.  _Threatening_  them.”

That doesn’t seem to surprise her, and that’s what scares him. But the information itself is new, judging by the way she ponders it. 

He continues. “If you don’t tell me, I can ask Madara myself. It’s obvious you two are hiding something—”

“No. Don’t mention anything to him. I want nothing to do with it.” The nervousness in her voice rattles him. “I don’t want to be interrogated anymore,” she says hastily, knowing he’s about to take her display of emotion as evidence for his cause.

He opens his mouth to rebuttal, but they both turn at the sound of a small, but mature voice.

“Tobirama-sensei.”

She immediately recognizes the young boy as an Uchiha. Odd on its own, but even more so when Tobirama gives him full attention.

“Kagami,” he says, almost cordially. “What is it?”

The boy looks slightly timid, knowing he’s stumbled across something he shouldn’t have, but he’s strong, motivated by the gratitude and trust Tobirama instilled in him after the confession against his own clan leader. The confidence shines as he hands Tobirama a scroll. 

“I’ve been trying to find Hashirama-sama, but I haven't seen him. May I leave this with you?”

Tobirama reads over the writing. A letter from one of the academy instructors, something about a classroom needing repair, asking for Hashirama’s assistance. Tobirama thought it might have been new information on Uchiha movements, Madara’s whereabouts, things he asked Kagami to seek out, if he could. But Tobirama is too occupied with the present matter to be disappointed or remind Kagami of his priorities.

He folds the scrolls and nods at the young boy. “I’ll give it to him.”

Kagami nods, bows, and leaves, putting down the curiosity to stay and see the woman who Hiruzen and Koharu spoke of so often.

_Tobirama-sensei_ , she thinks.

“You’re mentoring an Uchiha,” she says it like it’s some startling revelation, but an odd feeling of admiration grows in her.

He doesn’t look at her. He never considered himself the boy’s mentor. Loyalty to the village is what mattered to him, and Kagami had done more than prove his loyalty. He’ll take in anyone willing to preserve that ideal. 

“I want what is best for this village,” Tobirama says finally. “I can care about even an Uchiha, if he shares my determination to make peace. But if there’s something, or  _someone_  jeopardizing that...” Then he looks at her, laying on the guilt heavily.

“I don’t have anything to tell you,” she says in finality. But for the first time, her conviction sounds false even to her own ears.

The way he scowls is enough to tell her he doesn’t believe it at all. “Don’t tell me that the same foolhardy sentiment my brother has it what holds you back.”

She lies. “That isn’t it.”

Then what is it? he wants to ask. He’s growing tired, but he won’t ask her. He can easily force the truth out of her if he tried. She seems timid enough as of late. Which just furthers his suspicions. But he doesn’t want to hurt her anymore than she has been. 

“Then you’ll settle knowing there could be something stirring in the village, something you could prevent? And you’ll take his anger with open arms?"

The words cut into her deeply, confirming a weakness within her she had tried so hard to ignore. 

“I have to go,” she says. “I’m sorry.” 

She can’t handle the inquiry any longer. She’s afraid he’ll get it out of her. And the consequence of keeping the truth from him isn’t as bad as what will happen if she admits to what she knows and puts stock into his suspicions. 

Part of her, the weak part, still hopes Madara will abandon his foolish trials. Maybe Hashirama can convince him, maybe someone can. “I’ll have some supplies to drop off at the academy soon. Good evening."

And he doesn’t stop her when she walks away.

~~~~~~~~

“What did she say to you?” Hashirama asks timidly when he meets Tobirama in the office later that day. 

His younger brother’s eyes are narrowed, a thin line of tension and impatience. “Nothing. What did she say to you?”

“Nothing.” 

Tobirama closes his eyes with a frustrated sigh. “And I learned nothing from Kagami, either.”

Hashirama rubs his cheek as he comes to the table and sits, visibly displeased by the statement. Tobirama notices and frowns.

"You trust the Uchiha, yes? Yet you don’t trust the word of Kagami. Even I trust him." 

Hashirama’s never heard him say that, or anything like it. It should solicit his own trust, but he still can’t believe the talk of treason Kagami introduced to them. “I don’t know, brother…. What am I supposed to do?”

“What are you supposed to do?” Tobirama repeats incredulously. “Get a backbone.” Hashirama’s eyes flare and sharpen. Tobirama doesn’t apologize. “Let me put this in perspective for you. You’re going to have another child soon. Do you want to bring them into this world of unrest in the village? You see what’s going on. Outside and inside. If you can alleviate at least one of those problems, you would, would you not?”

Hashirama closes his eyes and exhales. “This is a mess, I admit. Madara just needs time. I suspect the problem with neighboring clans is what bothers him so. Also, he mentioned Izuna the other day during one of our disagreements. I know that has something to do with it.” He tries not to give Tobirama a pointed look, but he can’t help it. “And you with the Uchiha. Spreading hate, to your students especially, I hear.”

“I did nothing of the sort. All I said was that Uchiha children attending the academy need to be taught by non-Uchiha instructors, simply to avoid bias, to gain a variety of instruction.”

“Yet you wonder why Madara is driven up the wall by all your nonsense.”

“Is that an excuse for his behavior?” Tobirama returns, anger simmering. “You saw the marks on her neck, I know you did.”

“Yes, I did.” A deep feeling of hopelessness sinks inside of him, but his ever-present confusion persists. “It could be anything.”

“Stop being so naive.”

"I will when you stop being so cruel. Don't fight fire with fire, Tobirama. I will speak to Madara when the time is right and I will make him understand. We’re meant to hold a meeting soon for the new trading routes. I will ask him to be there and hopefully end his seclusion. As for the bruises, as for her and Madara... I will see what I can learn. It could be anything. I’ll intervene when it becomes clear.”

Tobirama scoffs. "I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The fight in them dies after that. No more words are spoken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter?
> 
> Oblivious but soft boy Hashi 
> 
> Madara's getting wild, I know. What is Tobirama up to


	13. Chapter 13

Hashirama spots her, grins, and shouts her name. “I’m happy you could make it! I thought I saw you in the crowd.”

He’s inaugurated as Hokage on a beautiful day. Clear skies, sun not too hot, warming her skin in a pleasant manner. The crowd is bigger than she expected. As the masses dissipate, the new Hokage and his family step down into the streets, where they find her.

Hashirama approaches her, holding his daughter in his arms, smiling and humble, looking so different and formal now with his new position. Mito is at his side, belly looking bigger every day.

“Of course,” the woman tells him. “I wouldn’t miss it.” It seems like such an accomplishment to bring everyone together for the special day. Perhaps she had doubted the love people held for Hashirama. “And, this one wanted to get out.“

Her little cousin wiggles in her arms, exuberant to be out of the house again and in the midst of such a cheerful, massive crowd.

Hashirama admires the little girl in her arms, whose attention is glued now on the tall man dressed in all white. She stares at him with a vast curiosity that Hashirama finds amusing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met this one before, what’s your name?” Hashirama moves in close and the girl hides in her cousin’s neck, suddenly timid. Hashirama frowns and pulls away, feigning hurt. “The outfit can’t be that bad, can it?”

Mito hums in amusement at his side and comes in close to inspect the little child. Unsurprisingly, she reemerges at the sight of the nice Uzumaki woman and obliges to share her name.

As Mito occupies her little cousin, she glances at Hashirama cautiously to closer inspect him. The entire ceremony, Hashirama seemed flustered. Not that the man could by any means be unhappy with the majority of the village looking up to him that day, but the sheepish modesty she had expected him to have was replaced with something else that day.

Something was missing.  _Someone_. Madara did not attend, though it’s not a surprise to her. She wonders if Hashirama was confused, maybe even wounded by the fact. Someone near her in the crowd had even pointed out the man’s absence before, and the response to it came from an Uchiha. Madara was simply busy, he had said. She didn’t doubt that. But whatever occupied his time couldn’t be anything good.

A flash of white sticks out in the crowd and her chest tightens. Tobirama is approaching, speaking with an attendant. He had been doing that the entire inauguration, she noted. Speaking with people, looking unimpressed with the ceremony as a whole. It amuses her, in a tasteless, base sort of way.

The younger Senju looks like he has something to tell Hashirama, but noticing the scene before him, he pauses, and appears to change his mind. He dismisses the attendant and comes to join his family.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama greets him. “You should stop pestering so many people on such a festive day.”

Tobirama crosses his arms. “Someone has to do your job for you.” Then his eyes find hers. They say nothing to each other, never quite certain where their ground lies those days. She expected that much.

What she does not expect, however, is for the girl in her arms to eagerly reach for Tobirama, an exuberant grin on her face. “Carry me,” she insists, hands grabbing for him.

Tobirama looks just as perplexed as anyone. He looks at the woman holding the girl, reminded of the way his chest tightens every time he thinks of her, but nevertheless noticing she seems to be very entertained by the sudden predicament, and struggling to hold the squirming girl in her arms.

He’ll grant her some mercy for now, and takes the little girl from her with a huff.

It’s only then that the child stops fussing, almost immediately. Hashirama laughs. “I see you’ve made a friend, Tobirama.”

Tobirama doesn’t reply. He’s only focused on the woman in front of him now, rubbing her arms, relieved of the weight. But she moves just so that he catches a glimpse of the waning purple around her neck, and not even the happy little hum from the youngling in his arms can content him then.

“Do you have any plans after this?” Hashirama asks her.

She moves her eyes from the pleasant sight of Tobirama and her cousin to the new Hokage. “I planned to finish delegating a meeting with my clan heads when I returned to my home, but otherwise I don’t quite know yet.”

“Ah, too bad.” He frowns a little, but it’s erased when his own little girl rests her face gently against his chest. He’s smiling again as he returns his train of thought. “I was going to see if you wanted to join us. I have to sign documents, finalize some things, and get out of this horrible outfit. Then we’re going to have dango.”

She seems uncertain with the invitation, though Hashirama appears elated and expectant of her answer. Mito takes initiative, knowing her husband’s impulsivity is unsettling at times. “But we understand you’re busy, there is no need to disrupt your schedule.”

“Ah, yes.” At Mito’s addition, Hashirama sees his impulsivity. He would feel guilty, but he’s quite absorbed in at least making her feel better, for all he could do. “I don’t mean to push, I just thought I would mention it.”

“I understand. I'm sorry, I can’t attend.”

“We won’t take up your time, then,” Tobirama says quickly. The only time of hers he needs is time dedicated to snaking the truth out of her. But he doubts that little argument would go well over dango.

He finally tries to give the little girl in his arms back to her older cousin, but the youngling stays tethered to his arms, even as her cousin tries to pry her away.

Hashirama smiles at the sight. Somehow so warming, even though it doesn’t take way the tension revolving around them. The glee of the day doesn’t mitigate the fact that she’s here, Madara is not, and his conviction to keep the village’s peace is under attack.

“Well then,” Hashirama begins, “could you join us for a drink tonight?”

“No,” Tobirama cuts in, finally managing to untangle the girl from his neck. She frowns in disappointment but returns to her cousin’s embrace without any further fight. “You shouldn’t be drinking at all.”

“It’s my inauguration day,” Hashirama insists.

“I would, but…” She doesn’t have an excuse. Work can be finished early, and she could return the girl to her mother at any time. She just wouldn’t feel right enjoying something so congenial during desperate times. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Hashirama protests, but the rest falls on his lips. He can practically feel the tension radiating from his brother at his side. Warning him, telling him not to push it. She’s no fool. She probably knows Hashirama’s doing this to compensate. To compensate for Madara’s misgivings, and for his own lack of intervention. Tobirama sees his brother’s guilt is tangible.

“Another time,” she promises him. “I can’t deny the Hokage, after all.”

For the first time, Hashirama thinks he likes the sound of the title, and he grins. “For now then, I’ll drink by myself. Or you’ll drink with me, Tobirama.”

“You need to get to the office now and finish your work,” is all Tobirama says.

“If we want to drink later then yes, we should. Plus, I don’t think I’d like to keep my wife out here any longer. The sun is beating.”

Mito hums in agreement. “We’ll head back. I’ll see you soon.”

She bows in return, a bit lower to suit the new Lady Hokage.

Tobirama sees Hashirama’s mouth open, about to say something more, and he pulls on his shoulder hard, uninterested in staying to see whatever antics his brother would start. “Now, brother.“

Hashirama pouts, looking rather depressed under the shade of the Hokage cloak, she thinks. When the his gaze returns to her, she can see he’s adopted a hidden understanding between them, the seriousness she had seen at the tea shop not long ago. “Sorry to keep you,” he says. “I hope you both have a good day.”

She thanks him, and wishes him the same. When she looks at Tobirama, she’s not prepared for the coldness in his expression. There’s unfinished business between all of them, she can see. She understood something needed to be done, but she didn’t know what.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tobirama is not fond of drinking, and even less fond of it when it’s with Hashirama. He’s certain his brother mixes all the drinks he can find into one cocktail and passes it off as sake. Anything to get a bigger high off of the small quantity Tobirama allows him to drink.

What Tobirama puts passed his lips is not sake. Something much stronger that attacks his brain and makes it cloudy, but he finds no conviction to yell at his brother now. Not while Madara is across the low table from him, solemnly drinking from his own cup. How Hashirama convinced the Uchiha to come out of his precarious isolation to get drunk is one mystery. But the bigger question on Tobirama’s mind is how his brother convinced  _him_  to come, especially knowing the Uchiha would be there.

Tobirama thinks it’s because he needs to see Madara face-to-face. Needs to look him in the eyes and know that he was the one inciting trouble where he didn’t need to be. And hopefully, a drunken Hashirama would gain the conviction to finally interrogate his friend’s recent schemes. Tobirama wanted to be there for that.

Tobirama can already see the night is going badly, however. Madara is undeniably bothered by something, irritated and reticent. And although Tobirama has never seen Madara beyond tipsy, he’s certain that attitude will not change with more alcohol in his system. He doubts there will be compliance in any shape or form.

“Madara, you should have been there,” Hashirama begins, voice already too full of drowsiness to deny his inebriation, and he was the best drinker there. Tobirama fears how unruly he’ll be with a few more cups of alcohol in him. “It was a big crowd, quite flattering, actually. So many people. Lots of Uchiha, even. Yamanaka too, even though they’re just getting settled. I thought it was nice they came… so thoughtful. And of course _______-san was there… and hmm…”

Tobirama and Madara look at each other almost immediately, as if on instinct, perhaps to gauge the other’s reaction. 

Something passes between them. It’s unspoken, past the spite, and ignoring the bias of their hate. It was acknowledgment. Whatever lives they had tried to live separately with her were no longer kept secret. They both had a stake in the same affair. They could no longer deny that.

Madara is the first to glance away, looking down into a cup of sake as he rests his head uninterestedly on his fist. “I had other things to do.”

Hashirama sees no offense in that, and actually chuckles. “Well, it was quite tedious, no matter how fun. Knowing your impatience, you might have saved yourself by not attending.”

Tobirama closes his eyes to quell frustration, knowing better than to open his mouth until the situation necessitated he intervene. Which would hopefully be soon. And he doesn’t have to wait long until Hashirama’s inhibitions gradually fade to make room for suppressed doubts.

“Madara,” he begins carefully, trying to look serious, but he only comes off as giddy and lost. “What were you doing that had you so busy?… So busy so often these days. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Hashirama’s silence afterward is enough to suggest that he’s given up easily, but Tobirama knows better. So does Madara.

“Are you sure?” Hashirama persists.

“Am I not allowed to run my own clan’s business?” It’s said with malice, but the faintest trace of a humor shared between them. It doesn’t catch on like it’s supposed to, however.

“Well, I just assume it would be village business, as well… So that makes it my business.”

“Of course it does,” Madara mutters, begrudgingly taking another cup of sake.

Hashirama either ignores the spite in that statement completely, or still hasn’t taken his role as Hokage seriously enough to find issue with it. “Are you not telling me… or us, about it, because you’re afraid we won’t approve–”

“Who is  _us_?”

Hashirama opens his mouth to clarify, but Tobirama kicks him under the low table, just inconspicuously enough that Madara doesn’t notice. He should know better than to bring her into it. Mentioning her will likely incite Madara further into frustration. And Hashirama is at least sharp enough not to look at Tobirama as he considers his words.

“Well… I just mean us, here. Me and Tobirama.”

Madara eyes him suspiciously, Tobirama too. He suddenly seems so far away to Hashirama, so far away from his help.

Hashirama clears his throat and continues. “So… is it because you’re afraid we won’t approve? Or perhaps that… because I’m Hokage now, you feel like you shouldn’t say something?”

It visibly discomforts Hashirama to say it, especially in front of Madara. The title had been intended for him from the beginning.

“No.” The answer is blunt and simple, but a warning. Both the Senju can hear it. But Hashirama chooses to ignore it.

“You have no reason to keep it secret, Madara. Whatever it is, I can help. I feel like you’re overworking yourself. Don’t take the brunt of the problem, whatever it is.”

Madara remains silent, hoping he can get through the last round of sake and please Hashirama’s stupid need for companionship and be done with it. Then he can leave and worry about more pressing matters. But Hashirama makes it so difficult. So persistent, so… cordial, in a disgusting way that Madara resents so much.

“Madara,” Hashirama pleads, practically pouting.

“What?” he snaps.

“This is going to be a new era and we should be open with each other—”

“There is no point in talking about this, Hashirama.”

“There’s obviously something bothering you. I wish you would tell me. I know there’s been trouble lately…” As Hashirama speaks his next words, he looks at his brother, as if in apology for what he’s about to say. “I know Tobirama has been pressuring you and your clan, but you shouldn’t be worried, and especially not worried about speaking to me—"

Madara slams his fist on the table in frustration and empty sake cups collide with a defining tone. “Stop trying to intervene. Just because you’re Hokage now doesn’t mean you need to know everything.“

And vaguely, just fleetingly, Tobirama wonders if Madara ever drinks around her. If he ever loses his temper. Is he an angry drunk by default? Violent? All those times he found her shaken, was this the reason? Would he strike her? Anger and disgust runs through him. Enough to make him forget that Hashirama just stabbed him in the back. But then his brother is speaking again, completely unaffected by Madara’s aggression, but the congeniality does abandon his voice.

"That’s not what I’m getting at, Madara.”

And Tobirama would be proud of his brother if he wasn’t so overcome with irritation. The tone he’s adopted forebodes something serious, they all know that, but Tobirama has to wonder if conviction will persist.

“I don’t need you to supervise me, Hashirama.” Madara’s tone sounds like he’s letting his anger ebb away, just slightly. “Leave me to my own business.”

Hashirama doesn’t believe a word of it, though he wants to. “How can I trust that you won’t jeopardize your sanity?… Or the village?”

Madara looks down, not wanting to meet the Senju’s eyes. He remembers his civility and composure, how it should feel much more natural with someone he was supposed to consider a friend. His best friend.

“You trust me with everything else,” the Uchiha continues. “Why not this?”

Hashirama stares at him, uncertain, in denial about the whole thing, even despite all the signs that point to disaster. He’s close to mentioning Kagami Uchiha, and the underlying crisis of the Uchiha clan that he spoke of. But he won’t out the boy.

Madara is being soft, at least. There’s pain in his eyes, and Hashirama sees that as a mirror of the old friend he once trusted so much, and still does, despite it all.

With a sigh, Hashirama pours himself another cup and downs it rather quickly. He had given up. Tobirama glares, incredulous. Is this what the new Hokage had to offer? While evidence stares at him in the face?

“Your business is village business,” Tobirama finally opens his mouth, words burning as he speaks. Madara looks at him coolly, wondering why after months of silence, months of refusing to exchange in harmful acerbity, that Tobirama would use this as a catalyst now.

“Is that so? So you plan to monitor each and every move of all denizens in this village? The purpose of Konoha was peace and freedom, not tyranny.”

“That’s not what this is,” Tobirama argues.

“That is exactly what you are making it out to be. You wouldn’t be so adamant about my agenda otherwise.”

“We wouldn’t be so adamant about your agenda if you weren’t so suspicious.”

“Tobirama—“ Hashirama’s voice falls into background noise as the two men hone in on each other. It was exactly why Hashirama dreaded these moments.

Nevertheless, Madara uses Hashirama’s intervention as a shift in the conversation. He has no intention of quarreling with Tobirama, as interesting as that would be.

“Perhaps you should focus your attention elsewhere, Tobirama,” he says.

Hearing his name come off the Uchiha’s lips seeps disgust and anger into his veins. “My focus will always be on the village.”

“I beg to differ.”

Tobirama’s is seething, they can all see it. They didn’t often indulge in verbal sparring, but Tobirama finds his chest twisting in hot anger. But whether it’s the alcohol, or knowing that whatever he says will likely be of no benefit to anything or anyone but his own disdain, Tobirama doesn’t comment. But he doesn’t stay either.

He stands to his feet, adjusting to the sudden change in equilibrium and realizing he’s had too many cups. He’ll scold Hashirama later, but for now, he can’t even be in his brother’s presence without feeling… ashamed. Ashamed to see his weakness. And the longer he looks at Madara, the easier it is to imagine him raising trouble and scheming and taking his angers out on others, one person in particular, that deserved none of it.

A slurred protest falls on Hashirama’s lips when his brother makes to leave. “Where are you—”

“Home,” Tobirama mutters.

Madara watches him closely and they share a meaningful glare. And Hashirama catches and deciphers the look in his brother’s eyes when he looks at him. _Fix this_ , it seems to say. Then he leaves.

Watching him go stirs all sorts of anger inside of Madara, his mind a blur of frustration and impatience and hatred. Izuna. The clan. The Uchiha tablet.

"Madara. I need to speak to you about something. Or, someone.”

Madara closes his eyes, knowing the determination behind Hashirama’s words promises nothing good.

“We shouldn’t be having these conversations, Hashirama. Not like this.” He’s hardly sober enough to talk, let alone think.

“She's a good person,” the Senju says, not needing to even speak her name. They both already knew too much to play coy about it. And he can see it grabs the Uchiha’s attention, though he tries to hide it. “ Tobirama… and now I, are worried you might be taking advantage of your friendship with her. And if it’s because of whatever personal issues you’re having, you should know, it’s not right…”

Madara’s eyes narrow fiercely. His hands wraps tighter around the sake cup. But he says nothing, just lets Hashirama continue. And he listens to everything, though it doesn’t provoke any regret or understanding in him, only feelings of betrayal and loss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Madara-sama, there’s someone here to speak with you.”

He would ask who, but he sensed her when she stepped into the Uchiha neighborhood. He considers not letting her in. It’s not out of his train of thought to treat her with spite. Not anymore. 

“Let her in." 

She can see the subdued frustration written in his face as soon as she’s allowed into the room, even though he’s not looking at her. An uneasy feeling overcomes her, but she forces doubt out of her mind and walks toward his desk without being received.

She had a number of duties now that she took on responsibilities at the academy. One was collecting obligations. Months ago, her clan heads believed her and Madara’s relationship to transcend what it is, or was, and had taken that into account when both clans agreed to provide a prominent amount of medical supplies with each other for the academy. Likely, it was just to ease her own clan’s burden. Madara had seemed happy enough to agree to such a contribution when they were on good terms. Now, she didn’t know. But she wouldn’t keep from her duties because of uncertainty or fear, no matter how strong. 

She can practically hear her heartbeat as she stands before him, watching as he completely ignores her and continues reading over a scroll. The anxiety is easily replaced with irritation, but not one sprouted from damaged sentiment, merely pure frustration. She doesn’t know if the fact relieves her, or pains her. 

It’s when that silence becomes annoying that he looks up, eyes unblinking, almost void. She gestures to the papers in her hand. 

“You can see that I’m working, can’t you?” he says, voice emotionless. “Leave it and I will look at it later.”

Astonishment is all she feels. Is that all he had to say? He was normally so brash and confrontational when it came to their strife. Perhaps he had given up. She clearly wasn’t giving him what he wanted, whatever it had been. It frustrates her, makes her feel like all they had gone through meant little to nothing. Then again, she should be glad it was over, if it was. 

“It won’t take but a few seconds to read over and sign, Madara.” She says it as patiently as she can. It’s one thing to argue with him, but in the Uchiha compound, where his attendants were within earshot? No. She couldn’t bring attention to their tension. 

He says nothing, but reaches out to pluck the papers from her hands, still uninterested in looking at her. 

He reads over the conditions, not exactly remembering how or why he agreed to assist her clan, but understanding his sentiment at the time of the arrangement must have clouded his judgement. He feels a similair sense of confusion and creeping sentiment now.

It’s much more difficult than he anticipated, casting her aside. The coldness was less to punish her, more to push her away, no matter how his bitterness sided with the prior. The last thing he needed was more fuel to their dilemma, another opportunity for the Senju to get involved. If avoiding that meant avoiding her, it would have to be that way. She needed to stay out of whatever was to come, for both their sakes.

When he returns the papers, she remains there, unmoving. He notices, but it takes a long moment of inner conflict before he concedes and glances up at her.

“What?”

“What is this, Madara?”

He frowns. No matter how he tries to keep his tone far from condescension, he fails. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It obviously does… but I’m not going to keep running in circles with you about this, Madara. You already know I can’t trust you when you’re hiding something.”

He looks at her. “You’re very bold.” He doesn’t know if he’s to thank for that, or if the Senju are. 

She rubs the sore skin of her neck unconsciously without thinking, but plays it off when she thinks he’s staring. "This village is my priority now.”

“You’re even talking like them.”

It isn’t said with spite, more of a dull, disappointed awareness. It still stings her all the same.

“Madara, please—”

“My obligation is done now. Do you need anything else?”

She sighs, wanting to debate with him. It felt so natural. But she sees now that it's no longer an option. “No.”

He says nothing to that, leaves the resolve in the air. He wants her to leave, obviously. So she does. 

But just as she’s about to touch the door, the bubbling frustration in him wins out. 

“By the way,” he says, and she turns, preparing herself for the worst. “If you’re going to go behind my back and divulge our business, I suggest it not be to Hashirama. If he’s going to pick sides, you know it will be mine.”

Her eyes soften in spite of the surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

She puts the pieces together fretfully. “I didn’t tell him anything.”

He has no response to that. He either doesn’t believe her, or he has no energy to keep the argument alive. 

“I didn’t,” she says again. He still has nothing to say, instead looks distracted, mind suddenly littered with a mix of unwelcome, upsetting thoughts. 

”Leave.”

Anger makes her entire body tremble, but then it dissipates just as fast. Neither of them deserved any more of this. So she doesn’t protest, she just leaves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And you didn’t bother to inquire  _where_  exactly he was going?” Tobirama snaps at Hashirama, who gazes out the window of his office, as if facing his younger brother will seep the guilt into him.

“I tried,” he protests. “But he wouldn’t tell me. All he said was he had village business to take care of, and that he would return swiftly.”

“Then you didn’t try hard enough.” Tobirama steps closer in an attempt to gather his attention, but his brother is deep in thought. “If you don’t know where he’s going it’s only because you weren’t pointed enough, not because he refused to tell you.”

“I want to know what’s happening to my friend,” Hashirama insists, looking at him now, offended by the accusation. “Don’t think I’m being weak-minded through all of this.”

“He’s out there inspiring trouble and leading that trouble back to Konoha.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He went by himself, took no one, told no one, not even his clansmen.” 

Hashirama’s brows crease in confusion and discomfort. The words are true, the concern true. He has no backing to dispute what Madara is doing, but it’s still not easy to accept his friend might be slipping away. 

“Well… perhaps ______-san will know.”

“Doubtful.”

“She might,” Hashirama insists. 

Tobirama had already considered it. Perhaps that was what had been upsetting her, knowing of the Uchiha’s whereabouts, knowing what he was up to, carrying the weight of his secrets. Tobirama considers this, and starts to believe in it.

“I’m going to speak to her again,” Hashirama says.

“She brushed you off last time,” Tobirama points out. “Don’t think it will get you anywhere again without being firm.”

"We have to start somewhere.” Hashirama knows it’s true. He couldn’t be firm with her, not knowing she had her troubles to deal with. He watches his brother closely. "Maybe you should talk to her, Tobirama.”

He crosses his arms and broods, thinking about it. "I doubt she would tell me anything.”

“Don’t scare it out of her, Tobirama.  _Talk_  to her.”

“She doesn’t like me,” he says. Passing his lips, it’s silly, but frustrating to admit.

“She does.”

Tobirama’s eyes move to him, curiosity piquing briefly, then failing to pessimism. “You think everyone is on one side, that we’re all living in harmony together. You’re wrong.“

"She doesn’t hate you, Tobirama. I would say it’s the opposite, in fact.”

“Meaning what?” 

Hashirama is happy to hear the subtle intrigue in his brother’s voice, muted by his pride. But he starts thinking about it, and a strange sadness overtakes him.  For so long, all his whims and expectations for her had been with Madara, but it seems like a withered hope now. A weed, ready to be pulled. 

"You know her,” he says. “If she hated you, you would know. I’ve seen her, the way she talks to you. It’s not hate. Just misunderstanding. You just need to try harder.”

Tobirama considers it, takes it into account without any counters or suspicions. He tries to let go of his ego, tries to see the situation for what it is. When he does, his heart aches.  

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tobirama goes to her home, knocks quietly, and waits. He glances around cautiously, presuming most of her clan members would be asleep at such a late hour, but ever careful someone may notice him. If they asked, he would simply disguise his late night visit as academy business. Not exactly believable, but it was still something.  

When she doesn’t answer, he knocks again, that time louder. Within seconds, she’s opening the door, staring with wide eyes. Her face softens when she recognizes him, but the tension isn’t completely gone from her stance. 

“May I come in?” he asks, no hesitation preceding the question. He didn’t much care for that anymore. Formalities were fine, but he couldn’t pretend that they were on such uncertain grounds anymore. They had been doing better, despite the circumstances.

She seems to be analyzing him, thinking of all the reasons he would be there before her. Not completely suspicious, only curious. After a moment, she steps aside and lets him in.

He had never been in her house before. It surprises him to see no mess anywhere. Not one scroll or book. She must have been cleaner than he imagined, even for someone so busy. 

Before he’s caught examining the place too much, he turns to her, waits for her to demand an explanation for his arrival, but all he gets is a soft, tired look. 

“Would you like some tea?” she asks. 

He should be polite and civil and say yes, but he anticipates their conversation won’t be anything like that. “No, thank you. I just need to talk.”

She expected that much. All he ever wanted to do was talk. She sighs. “I don’t want to be interrogated, again.”

“It’s important.”

Part of her thinks to ask him to leave then and there, but for him to come all the way there, to knock on her door so late, there must be something imperative keeping his dignity hidden away. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be there.

“Is it about Madara?” she asks. 

“Yes.”

She nods, a sullen understanding. “Fine, have a seat.”

By the time he’s done explaining Madara’s disappearance, he can tell she has no insight on the matter either. She seems surprised, but somehow, accepting of the situation, as if it actually didn’t surprise her at all.  

“And your brother has no idea where he’s gone?” she asks.

“No. He thought you might know.”

She looks concerned all of the sudden. He can’t tell if it’s concern for the Uchiha himself, or the turmoil he’s stirring. “Not that you need any convincing, but we haven’t… been on the best terms, as of late,” she admits. “He’s told me nothing.”

Tobirama exhales a long breath. He’s not surprised by that fact. The Uchiha wouldn’t trust her with his secrets, Tobirama can understand that now. But he still can’t shake the feeling that she at least knows something he doesn’t. 

“Whatever he’s doing… I doubt it’s for the benefit of the village.”

He watches her closely as she voices the thought, noting how the more she shares, the less confident she is. He can appreciate she’s at least being honest now, but it still hurts him somehow, seeing her so diffident. 

“When he comes back, it’s not going to be the same,” he tells her, rather gravely. “Even my brother knows something is going on now. He’ll have to intervene.”

She looks at him with worried earnest. “What do you mean?”

“They’ve been arguing with each other more frequently. Madara has grown more secretive day by day. He’s up to something. My brother wouldn’t have sent me here to make an inquiry if he wasn’t convinced of at least that. He’s foolish, but not foolish enough to put any further confidence in Madara’s intentions.”

She would smile, but a melancholy hold on her body stops her. “Does that make me a fool?… For believing that maybe he’ll come back around?”

For a moment, he feels sympathetic. But an abrupt swell of frustration courses through him.  “Why do you continue to vouch for him?” His voice is harsher, with a tint of desperation that eases the blow. 

“I don’t know.” She admits it like she’s just as disappointed in herself as he is.

“Look at what he’s doing to you.”

After that, she’s silent. They can hear crickets chirping outside the walls of her home, a cool breeze rustling the trees. Tobirama had expected her anger, and feels somehow discouraged that all he receives is somber acceptance. 

She lets the tumultuous thoughts escape her for a just moment as she looks at him. And suddenly, a memory returns to her, one she had been keeping at the back of her mind as a lofty, congenial reminder. She so seldom had the chance to enjoy that congeniality with him. “I know you’re the one who told Hashirama I should help Mito with her seals, by the way.”

His eyes move to hers quickly, confused, but not angry. But he says nothing. 

"I kept expecting Madara to take credit for it,” she clarifies. “But when he didn’t, I started suspecting it was you. Why didn’t you mention it to me?”

“I didn’t see the point.”

“Well…” And as quickly as the happiness found her, it went away. “It was thoughtful of you to do that, to involve me when I was so uncertain and alone. But… you’re the reason I stayed away in the first place, if you remember.” 

His face changes. It looks like a defensive change to her, but still, he has no reply. For that, for his surprising, but relieving concession, she regresses to his purpose for being there.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all of this, Tobirama. You shouldn’t have to. And I don’t know what Madara is doing. I haven’t for a long time. Our relationship is different now. If I could give you answers, I would. But I can’t. So… leave it alone. It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“It does.”

It hurts to hear him say that, somehow. "Why?“

He closes his eyes, a frustrated sigh passes his lips. "It has a lot to do with you. You know that.”

She wonders if he’s referring to the dilemma with Madara at that point, or their own problems. But even if he was referring to himself, even if he opened up about the unspoken emotions she had been waiting to hear, whatever they might have been, she doesn’t know if she could handle it. She doesn’t know how she feels about him. 

“You have nothing to tell me about Madara?” he asks again, pointed.

“I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

She’s suddenly very conscious of how prying his eyes are, how easily they seem to be able to stake out the truth. But she isn’t lying. Not completely. While she had her suspicions, she couldn’t tell him anything that would better the situation. All she knew of was Madara’s spite, his distrust of the Senju, and his sinking credibility. All things which Tobirama seemed to have accepted a long time ago. 

Tobirama doesn’t see the point in arguing about it. The grief surrounding her prevents him from it. It’s the same grief he’s seen in his brother so many times when it came to the Uchiha. The comparison is almost dreadful for him to realize.

"I’ve spent a majority of my life trying to steer my brother in the right direction because of this problem exactly, trying to convince him of the evils at his doorstep and keep him safe.” She doesn’t seem to particularly like what he’s saying, or at least, she wishes he wouldn’t be so harsh. But he doesn’t care. All he cares about is how defeated his pride will be when he says what he’s feeling. He can’t keep misconstruing his own conviction. “Understand that I’m only trying to do the same for you.”

The words fill her with emotion. She thinks she had known all along his intentions weren’t just built from his own malice, but from something deeper, from something more genuine or selfless. She had been blind to that fact for a long time. 

The hand she spreads across the table to meet with his almost makes him recoil, but he remains steady, lets her palm rest gently on the back of his hand in a soft way that expresses wordless gratitude.

They all at once realize it’s the first time they’ve really touched, the first time they’ve really felt each other. 

“I understand,” she says to him. “I’m sorry I can’t help. I wish I knew more.”

He tries not to think about how sad she sounds. The whole situation is unnerving him. Greatly. But the warmth of her hand is almost enough to take it away. 

“There’s no need to apologize,” he says, for once, wishing he had his brother’s kind heart so he could do more for her pain. 

Her hand leaves him. He watches her as she stands and moves away, noticing nothing but the soft, but morose look on her face. 

“I’m tired,” she says. And he can hear it in her voice. “I’m going to lie down, get a little rest before I finish the rest of my work.”

Not needing to be told, he stands, prepares to leave. “I’ll be seeing you then.”

She nods. They have one last meaningful look at each other before they break the stare. She walks him to the front door, and he goes, leaving her with a confusing, mournful sense of intimacy that she doesn’t think she can handle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had these chapters written out (except the last one) for like a year so I haven't reread any of them in a while. Hopefully this one wasn't too horrible. We're getting close to the end, three-ish more chapters I'm pretty sure


	14. Chapter 14

The night comes when she can longer wait. Resolve is never something she thought to seek. Resolve was naivety. It’s the reason her dilemma with Madara had grown so dangerous and so toilsome. She should have stopped caring once she suspected his delusions were getting out of hand. But she hadn’t. She had hoped for too much and for too long. If their life together as co-inhabitants of the village was to be honest and decent in the future, she could no longer allow their emotional warfare to continue. 

When she arrives at his house, she doesn’t knock. She doesn’t address herself. Not simply for lack of formalities, but with how often he was missing those days, she wondered if he would be home at all. She sees no reason to wait patiently for entry because of that. If he was home, he was home. If he wasn’t, she would wait.

It appears her doubts are true when she waltzes in and is met with no immediate reprimanding. No shoes at the door, no sound in the house. Even the outside wind seems to fall silent there. The side door to his outside garden is left open. Where had he gone? 

She glances around. The place looks as it always had, clean but occupied. Surprising, since he rarely occupied it. She considers briefly snooping around once again, seeing what she could find. The only thought that stops her is the one where she does find what she’s looking for. A truth to his madness. What could she do then? Run to Tobirama? Tell him what she had found? Become a catalyst for the feud between the Uchiha and Senju that would inevitably come out of it? 

It’s her duty, she knows, as a citizen of Konoha, as a protector. But despite what she had come seeking him for, she still found it painful to imagine betraying him in such a way. 

“I thought I told you to never to step foot in my home again.”

Her heart nearly stops. She looks for him, finds him in the corner of the room. She’s unnerved to know he’s staring at her, but unable to see anything other than his figure in the shadow of night. 

“I didn’t think you would be here,” she says finally.

“I won’t be, for much longer.”

Her throat tightens. Silence ensues. She sees no reason to speak, and sees no opportunity to even gather the courage. As if he’s distracted by something else, he glances outside the open door, eyes on the moon, its light casting a grim shadow over his face. 

“What’s going on, Madara?” she finally pushes her determination past the anxiety, and finds her voice sounds much more desperate than she intended.

“I should be asking you that.” His eyes settle on her in a bleak, empty way that she’s never seen. What is it in his gaze that scares her? That bodes something dangerous and irreparable? “Why are you here?” 

For a second, she thinks about evading the truth, making up some half-witted, vague lie to appease him. But she doesn’t allow herself to think like that. 

“I can’t stand this anymore,” she says.

“Can’t stand what?” He sounds annoyed, low voice traced with impatience, she thinks. 

“Your behavior. Your inability to tell the truth, or see what you’re doing to yourself. I have no idea what I’m supposed to believe anymore.”

“You would, if you were not so blind.”

It stings, but dignity isn’t her concern at the moment. She can only condense her thoughts into a simple plea. “Just tell me what’s happening. I need to know. I just want to help you.” 

It’s then that his eyes seem to soften. Barely a fraction, but it alleviates some of the pressure, makes her heart rate slow. 

"I'm leaving."

Then the uncertainty comes back. Her throat tightens. “What?" 

“I’m leaving the village."

"For how long?" But it's a hallow cry in the dark. She knows already. 

He doesn’t answer. 

It’s either immediate denial or fear that stops her from speaking, though the confusion registers on her face all the same.

“Don’t act as though you didn’t see it coming,” he says in response to her tepid silence. “I will not stay in a village surrounded by fools who can’t see their own end in sight.”

She’s at a loss for words. Crippling anxiety overcomes her body and she’s frozen with hopelessness, even when he walks toward her. But she’s not his target. He moves past her to shuffle through a sack on the kitchen counter. The belongings he would take in his departure. 

"And what about Hashirama?” she begs suddenly. She hadn’t considered whether that appeal would reach him, only that it might stir something within him. Hate, consideration, tenderness, she doesn’t know. Perhaps it’s ill-advised, but she presses on. “He loves you like a brother. What will he say to this? You don’t think he’ll try to stop you?"

"Even if he does, it will do nothing.” The Uchiha turns over his shoulder to look at her. He scoffs in disbelief then, a thought that must be unpleasant coming to his mind. “Hashirama speaks as if I’m a brother to him. If I were really like a brother, would he have so easily disregarded me for Tobirama’s whims? Would he be letting Tobirama get away with his schemes?”

She can’t think of a decent response at first, because she realizes it’s true. Hashirama loved them both, as a brother and as a friend. But there was no point in denying the fact that Hashirama’s leniency affected them both, in two equally detrimental ways. 

"It isn’t that easy," she tells him, knowing it’s not an answer that will quell him, or change his mind. 

“No. I suppose it isn’t, to you. So now I’m making it easier. You and the Senju can monopolize the village the way you would like from this point on. I won’t stand in your way.” 

“Stop, Madara.” Anger doesn’t resonate in her voice like it should. The fact he would spite her at a time like this is unthinkable.

“I tried to tell you,” he says, much more sternly. “But you wouldn’t listen.” 

She remains silent, but looks at him almost regretfully. She would argue in circles with him if she felt it would keep him there, but she knew better. She could see he had made up his mind. There was no swaying him. Still, she wouldn’t give up so easily.

"Where will you go?” she asks, voice quiet, almost defeated. 

“Anywhere.”

“Madara... you can’t."

"What is there for me if I stay?” It’s then he returns his eyes to her, cynical and cold. “You?”

The words are spoken skeptically, almost tauntingly. It hurts all the same.

“You can’t just leave,” she repeats again, unable to grasp anything of importance that might change his decision. “You can’t just run from this.”

“I am not running from anything. There’s no point in me staying where I am not wanted, or needed.”

A sad regret comes to her, and she fleetingly wishes she had never opposed his acrimony toward the Senju, as folly as it had been. Maybe this wouldn’t be happening if she hadn’t. 

“It’s not like that,” she insists, moving closer to him. “You are needed. You created this village. Without you...” Imagining the village without him in it didn’t seem like the place she wanted to call home, in spite of all the trouble between them, despite the pain that had brought her to his home in the first place.

“Stop being so dramatic, _____.”

Her name has never sounded so cold coming from him, like she’s a nuisance, an obstacle in his path. She laments the thought that it’s true.

It’s when he grabs his bag and moves to the open door that true panic seizes her. 

“You’re going to leave me? Like this? Without a real, honest explanation?”

Silence. His charcoal eyes betray nothing of his stoic demeanor. “You act as if I owe you one.”

“You do. For everything that you’ve done to me.”

He exhales audibly in frustration, and his eyes are still listless with disregard, like she could drop dead right at the spot and he would gladly walk over her corpse to follow the path he so wished.

"I swore to protect my brother,” he begins, and the words bring sorrowful nostalgia. His voice is softer than it had been before. He looks back into her big, fearful eyes. “I swore to protect my clan. I tried to protect you. I failed in all.”

Her voice softens in reminiscence, in disbelief. “All you did was hurt me.”

He runs his eyes across her face one last time, the last he knows he’ll ever see of it. “Then you can prosper without me.”

He goes to the door, and she follows immediately, trying to grasp at his shoulder, but he shoves her off.

"You can't leave,” she protests, voice shrill but soft. She tries to reach for him again, and he pushes her away. She doesn’t try anymore. Denial takes its toll. A resentful acceptance has her shaking her head. "That's it?"

“That's it,” he tells her.

Her thoughts crash all at once. She stands there in anger, fists clenched, wondering whether she should stop him, or if she even could. What does this mean for him? For his clan? For the village? What damage would he leave?

He glances back at her and sees the lost but frustrated look on her in the shadows, the gloss of her eyes. He doesn’t want to imagine it’s tears. Debilitated as he might be by the failure of their relationship, he still doesn’t like seeing her sorrow. It was definitely better this way, he thinks. He would never have to see that sorrow again. 

“Goodbye."

He walks out of the door. She doesn’t go after him, just stares at the porch outside, watches his garden flowers blow in the soft wind. Nothing else seems alive to her in that moment. Nothing else moves or matters. 

It’s only when the sound of his steps grow fainter that her limbs move on their own accord. Out onto the porch she runs, and she sees his figure fading into the trees under the shade of the night

“Madara, please—"

She catches up to him, grabs at the back of his shirt. She pulls with a force harder than she knew she could, but when she turns him to face her, the charcoal of his eyes has vanished and deep, angry crimson flashes down at her.

The sharingan paralyzes her for a fearful moment, not enough time for her to protest or plead, then her vision is shrouded in black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wakes in a bed that isn’t her own, but she can faintly recognize his room as the black spots in her eyes fade. With a desperate recollection that seizes her body with dark anxiety, she knows what happened. 

By the time she shakily gets to her feet, there’s a man calling Madara’s name outside of the house. Another few moments and she hears movement near the front door as a stranger enters, shuffling around the house carefully while still calling for his superior. 

The Uchiha’s look of astonishment when she walks out of Madara’s bedroom doesn’t register to her, and she doesn’t listen when he tries to stop her from immediately leaving, imploring her for answers of his leader’s whereabouts.

The moment she’s free and walking unthinkingly through the village streets, she hears the quiet commotion of the villagers, hears their gossip that confirms the fear she tries to ignore. 

Madara Uchiha is gone. Where is Madara-sama? Has he really left the village? 

Uchiha eyes watch her as she walks through their streets, but the blush of embarrassment she would have normally felt is replaced by a coldness in her body she can’t describe. 

By the time she finds herself in the Senju neighborhood, vertigo returning by what she can only assume is a lasting affect of his genjutsu, she hears Hashirama’s distraught voice from the other side of his office door. She knocks, ambles in without waiting, and Hashirama is there with Mito at his side, two attendants flanking them.

The Hokage looks at her with heavy, drained eyes. Concern is written all over his face, a silent plea, but something is shared between them that requires no needless inquiries or formalities. 

“Did he really...?” The hard beat of her heart seems to make the rest stick in her throat. Hashirama could have swayed Madara, she convinces herself. Someone could have stopped him, could have made him see the error of his ways. If anyone could have, it would be Hashirama. 

Hope rises in her just momentarily, but it dismantles in an instant. 

Hashirama’s expression doesn’t change. Solemn, lifeless, and regretful. He nods his head. “He’s gone."

~~~~~~~~~~

The moment his elder brother had stepped into the office, weary and grief-stricken beyond a recognizable point, Tobirama had already been on high alert. Hashirama was seeing without seeing, the light in his eyes gone, a voidness to him. With a few soft, pained words of explanation from his elder brother, Tobirama had known action needed to be taken. Madara had left. It would change everything. The very dynamics of the village would be on the line. 

Tobirama could have done a number of things then. He could have sent out a search party. Could have sent envoys into the Uchiha sector to gather information, report back any other signs of mutiny. He could have consoled his elder brother for what little sympathy he could offer. He  _should_  have, given that they were brothers and disdain aside, Tobirama knew what the Uchiha had meant to him. But that wasn’t the first thing that came to his mind the moment his elder brother told him Madara had abandoned the village. He left for her house within moments of the revelation. 

He can’t sense her presence inside her home when he arrives. Even if he had, he still wouldn't have knocked. He barges in, looking for her, for any trace of her or the Uchiha. He can sense nothing of either. He panics then, everything a blur of anger and confusion and concern. Rationality escapes him. He doesn’t even think to push his chakra out to search for her presence farther in the village, or make use of the hiraishiin seal. His sanity had barely been hanging by a thread before. Now, nothing matters. He jumps to a number of conclusions, all which lead to one worrisome, horrid thought. 

She’s gone too, he thinks. Stolen, or by her own accord. Either way, she’s not there. The Uchiha isn’t there. And neither is she. 

When he rushes back into Hashirama’s office, ready to berate and fume about Madara’s betrayal, about what he had done, how he had finally lured another into his schemes, how retribution was the only answer to his crimes—she’s right there looking at him with listless, unchanging eyes.

"Brother.” Hashirama’s voice is sad, but filled with a different concern now. “Where did you go?"

Tobirama looks between his brother and the woman before him, the mutual pain between them almost sickening him. Madara had been to see her too, he assumed. But he can sit in ire over that fact later. His pulse slows, his blood no longer feels hot. She’s safe. She’s there, in front of him, and Madara is long gone. He can’t cause her harm any longer. Or at least, he hopes as much. 

“It’s not important,” he replies finally, voice calmer than he imagined it would be. They take the answer willingly, no power in them to be curious. 

Mito is still at her husband’s side, trying to soothe him with a gentle touch. It doesn’t work. His voice is still hopeless and dim as he asks the equally grim woman before him, “Did he say anything more to you?”

“Just that…” He hadn’t really said anything that would matter, she thinks. She looks at Hashirama, then Tobirama. The Uchiha’s reasons had issue with both of the Senju brothers. But she feels blame didn’t need to be distributed then. “He needed to do this.”

She studies Tobirama again, not missing the indignation fixed all over him. She thinks to look away when he returns her gaze, but the subtle hint of vengeful scrutiny she sees in his eyes makes her still. Does he blame her? Does he think she had anything to do with Madara’s departure? Does he suspect her of something? So many questions that didn’t seem so far from possibility, but she can’t entertain them. She decides to ignore him for the moment, also ignoring the way it twists greater pain into her heart. 

Still, the thoughts make guilt stir within her. Perhaps something could have been done to prevent it if she had told the Senju what she knew sooner. Perhaps Hashirama with that information could have alleviated his friend’s worries. Perhaps Madara would have never been pushed so far. 

With nothing else to lose, she sits down with Hashirama and briefly tells him everything she can, which isn’t much that he hadn’t already known. She tells him of Madara’s insistent worries, how his anger and suspect had spiraled out of control. How he feared for his clan’s place in the village, how he had tried to coerce her to his perspective. She leaves out the details of their intimacy, trying to convince herself it’s for decency alone, and not because she can feel Tobirama’s eyes on her.

She sees Hashirama thinking. She knows he’s listening, but his focus is elsewhere, as though nothing she says has any effect on him. By the end of it, she feels awful for having had any part in the dilemma at all. Hashirama is silent, sad, and dismally accepting. 

Tobirama storms out as soon as they’ve had their collective resolve, saying not a word to anyone. She can tell he’s even angrier than he had been before. She doesn’t exactly know why. Perhaps because she had spilled truths she previously refused to share with him. She wants to go after him, but she can’t move an inch. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's the first week after Madara’s departure that Hashirama finally succumbs to the grief. 

With persistent begging, he convinces Tobirama to join him for a drink. That alone had been a bad enough idea, but when Tobirama learned Hashirama had also invited her, he didn’t think he would be able to handle it. 

But the tension is balanced when Mito intervenes and comes along. Tobirama is at least thankful for that. They both knew Hashirama needed some sort of outlet for the pain. One concise, free vent for his trouble. The last thing Tobirama wanted to do was listen. It would undoubtedly be a long night filled with stories and sentiment he didn’t want to hear, but he supposes he has to endure it. He knows his brother isn’t the only one grieving from the Uchiha’s absence. 

Hashirama spends a majority of their time at the bar laughing away the obvious misery, grateful when the alcohol finally takes effect and blurs his mind of its constant distress. Unfortunately, with it goes his inhibitions, and he can’t help the sad tenderness that comes to him.

"Madara was just...” He searches for the word, aware the atmosphere had changed now that he so suddenly mentioned his friend. Is the subject taboo? he wonders. It’s not like he hadn’t mentioned him before in the past week. Politics had changed, villagers needed to be updated. But that was all diplomacy. Where had his time been to mourn? “He was difficult. Different. Maybe it’s best he’s gone. He wanted to be absolved of village pressure. But... it was our dream.” With a heavy, morose sigh, he takes another drink. “What do you think _____-san? He did like you. Trusted you. Do you think he’s better off? Without us?”

The alcohol had gotten to her fairly quickly. She wasn’t a big drinker, had never claimed to handle the substance well enough to keep her wits about her. When Hashirama had asked her to join him for a drink, she felt she couldn’t refuse, not when she knew there was no one else in the village who could empathize with his pain. He needed a friend. 

She regrets her compliance now, unprepared for the confusing wave of heavy anguish and frustration that hits her with Hashirama’s question. The alcohol submerges her into dark thoughts she had tried so hard to ignore for many days. “I don’t know... he was just...” Her fingers tighten around the cup in her hands. “He expected too much. Of everything. And everyone.”

Hashirama can’t see through her simple facade to find the anger. She just looks sad. He hums.“You’re right. Maybe it’s my fault, for not trying hard enough...”

“No,” she corrects him. “No, it’s not your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault...” It’s a lie, she realizes. It  _is_  her fault, in many ways. Had she given him what he wanted, he might still be there. Had she understood and given him the support he needed. But then the logic returns. It was foolish to consider giving in to his dangerous whims just to appease him. She would never do that. And as the pride and strength tries to return to her, she’s glad she never did. 

“He did what he wanted to do, left us. Left the village.” In spite of herself, she takes a small sip from her cup. The liquid stings as it slips down her throat, but soon, like everything else, it turns numb. “He’s gone. That’s it.”

They let that sink in for a long, quiet moment. Mito and Tobirama, both sober, one for the life inside of her and both for the sake of Hashirama, glance at each other. 

It’s quite like they had expected the evening to go, but something about it still made the discomfort creep in. Neither have any way of properly comforting the grief-stricken. Neither quite frankly think the matter necessitates mourning at all. Tobirama for obvious reasons, Mito, for the seeping darkness in Madara she had sensed long ago. He’s gone now, she thinks. Yet the damage he’s caused will remain. 

The melancholy woman downs another cup of sake too fast and feels it send her brain into a warm frenzy. Any more alcohol in her system and she knows she won’t wake up in the morning. Joining Hashirama to grieve had been a mistake. Thoughts of Madara torment her now in a wreck of emotions that had thus far been suppressed. She feels helpless and lost, suddenly. Madara is gone, she accepts. She had accepted it, for many nights now. But the thought sends her into a void she can’t escape. 

"I... have to go,” she manages, but when she stands from the table, she has to grab the edge to keep her balance, senses lost to the alcohol running through her. 

Hashirama laughs at that, fighting for a good-natured disposition. No one else finds it humorous.

Mito is about to protest, insist she stay until she can find her bearings, but the inebriated woman walks off a moment later. No words are spoken, but Mito and Tobirama share a look, and he nods. He needs to see her home. 

Hashirama tries to call after her, ask her where she’s going, but he gives up easily as his head spins, and simply mutters a slurred goodbye. As Tobirama leaves, he hears Mito gently discouraging Hashirama away from another bottle of sake.

Tobirama can see her barely walking in a straight line as she heads down the street, and realizes how discourteous it had been of him to for a second consider letting her find her own way home. She would end up in an alley somewhere, by the looks of it. 

He calls her name when he's in distance, and puts a hand on her shoulder. She turns fast and he has the faintest feeling she's about to hit him, but she looks too solemn for that.

"Tobirama," she murmurs. Her eyes are half-lidded, glossed and red. "I want to go home. So I can do some work, and..." She doesn't finish, just turns and walks away. He considers letting her, for one moment thinking she may be able to make it on her own and wash his hands of her, but then she’s stumbling, and he catches her.

"I'm fine,” she snaps at him, but doesn't protest anymore when he helps her to her feet.

"You can’t even walk properly.”

The frustrated thoughts come to him like clockwork. It's one thing his elder brother is drinking the pain of Madara away, but her? He thought she was stronger than that. The way she clings to him now, so lost to herself and disconnected, it’s pitiful. A heavy feeling stirs in his heart. For Madara to be affecting her this much, he must have meant something more to her than Tobirama ever wanted to acknowledge. 

His arm is around her shoulder, guiding her steps to keep them in line. They’re a long way from the bar when she speaks in a whisper, “Do you remember when you spoke to the Sarutobi and Shimura? To make them allow my clan more room to settle?”

He does remember, even though it brings back painful nostalgia. No matter the confusion he had felt back then, it's nothing compared to now. "Yes.”

“I never thanked you for that.”

“Yes, you did.”

He's too focused on helping her up a rocky step to notice she's leaning in to him. She loses balances, clings onto his shirt and brings their faces too close together. Tobirama gives no opportunity to prolong the moment and pries her hands off of him gently. “You need to get home, come.”

“No,” she protests weakly, thoughts running wild while at the same time blurring into meaningless nonsense. “I’m... sorry I was so rude to you.”

He remains silent, but opts finally to push her down the road rather than carefully lead her.

“ _Stop_ ,” she snaps at him, reaching out and hitting his arm. He winces, taking note that she’s a lot stronger than he realized. Or maybe it was the alcohol in her. He wonders if it will bruise. 

But he doesn't retaliate, doesn't yell at her, mostly because he can't think of anything meaningful to say that would keep the somewhat quiet peace. And if he can’t tolerate her sober temper, he's certain her attitude while inebriated is a whole other hell to deal with. “Keep moving,” is all he says to her. 

She struggles still along the way, trying to convince him she can walk on her own. Every time he concedes to let her try, she makes it a good step or two before losing footing. He really has half the mind to throw her over his shoulder, but she would probably beat his back black and blue. He even considers dragging her along the ground. He also considers just leaving her at the library when they come close to it.

Fortunately, she gives up after a few hard-fought minutes. She’s silent then, too, her brazen worn off into something much more subdued. But the quiet is unsettling, and allows his mind to wander.

Madara. Always Madara. Even when the bastard had finally been eradicated from the village, he was still causing trouble. And Tobirama knew he would continue to, for a long time. 

He starts thinking of their destination. He doesn’t want to risk being seen dragging her, drunk, clinging to him, to her side of the village. The last thing he wants is any of her clansmen witnessing it and spreading rumors that neither of them need. Even if that alone doesn't damage his reputation, she'll surely let him have it when she wakes up sober and hears of it. 

He takes her to the nearest Senju guest house, one he’s spent many nights in when he can’t bother making it to this home after a late night of working. It has more than enough rooms, and he knows the landlords well enough that they won’t protest. If he could at least leave her there and be done with it, that would suffice for him. 

They arrive at the guest house. No lights are on. Good, Tobirama thinks. The less people that interfered, the better. She tries to quietly ask him where they are, but he doesn’t answer, thinking that even if she had the wits to understand him, she would only throw a fit for being abandoned at such an unfamiliar place. 

She’s looking at him through her drunk haze as they enter the place, seeing the lines of concentration in his features. Whatever unexplainable impulse pushes her to do it, she doesn’t know, but her body moves itself into the comfort of his arms. 

He accepts only after a hesitant moment, fighting the urge to push her away. She wraps arms around his neck, letting the rest of her body go loose. The weight of her pulls him down just slightly, and he catches his balance against the door frame.

"I thought he cared about me," he hears her whisper next to his ear.

Anger flashes through his thoughts. Madara doesn’t care about anyone but himself, is what he wants to tell her. But he remains quiet. 

"I feel the same regret that your brother does,” she goes on, voice sounding more collected and simple than he had heard it all night. But it’s still filled with melancholy. “I think I could have stopped him... if I tried hard enough. I just wanted to be his friend.”

Her grip tightens around him as she pulls herself closer, and the smell of sake mingles with the mesmerizing scent of her skin and hair, making an uncomfortable, confusing mixture.

He says her name gently and tries to pry her off, but that drunken strength of hers persists. “You need to sleep.”

But when he finally manages to pull her off, he doesn’t let her go too far. He keeps her just close enough to inspect the sullen look in her hooded eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Tobirama,” she says, not looking at him. 

He doesn’t ask for clarification, knowing that whatever it was would cease to only encourage the frustration and hurt inside of him. He merely reminds her to calm down as he kneels and gently lowers her onto the room’s sleeping mat. 

He succeeds, miraculously. But when he tries to pull up, her hands still linked behind his neck stop him. It’s when he reaches for her forearms to loosen her grip that she moves up close to his face. Much too close. And he doesn’t have the sense to pull away when she kisses him. 

Her lips are soft, but the rhythm is completely off. It's quick, but deep. He doesn't let it continue for more than a second. Her mind can barely register defeat and disappointment when he pulls back. 

“Don’t,” he says. 

It’s confusing. He had wanted to be accepted by her for so long, wanted her to trust him, to respect him, maybe even just to like him. And he realizes then, despite the way his pride stings him to admit it, that he had simply  _wanted_  her. In the most innocent, confusing way he could think of, he had wanted her. 

But he doesn’t want her like this. When he licks his lips, he can taste the alcohol. It’s not right. 

She goes in to kiss him again, methodical, eyes barely opened to slits. That time, he doesn’t let their lips touch. He takes her face in his hands and makes her look at him. "Don't."

She looks incredibly sad then. Devastated, even. He lowers her back onto the mat. She mumbles something that almost sounds like an apology, but he doesn't think too much about it. 

Before he can turn away, she manages to grab onto his arm. “Stay, please,” she asks of him, her eyes still glazed by the intoxication, but looking sincere, nonetheless. 

She closes her eyes and dozes off before he can think to answer. He covers her with a blanket, makes sure she’s warm. 

He sits back on his knees and watches her, muddled and lost, frustrated with his own disarray. It should be easy, he thinks, to brand her as a fool just like his brother, to abandon whatever fondness he had for her because of that. 

It’s enough to make him wish he had never met her. 

His chest and mind feel heavy as he leaves. He had no obligation to stay. He owed her nothing. The idea of her waking to find he had ignored her plea tears at his heart in an odd way, but he’s too tired to do anything more for her. She likely wouldn’t remember it in the morning, anyway.

He goes to bed that night with a blank mind. It’s the only way he can fall asleep anymore. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When she opens her eyes, she’s in an unfamiliar room. Her head throbs, her stomach aches and twists with emptiness. She can’t stand being awake, and closes her eyes for more rest. 

It’s another hour before she finally stops shifting in discomfort and actually wakes, and when she clambers to her feet and searches the room, she finds her shoes, tattered and spotted with dirt. Memories flood her like rain. Shameful, poignant, stinging rain. 

Tobirama is nowhere to be found. She has so many questions to ask, so many apologies to give. But she wonders if he would even listen. 

She gathers herself quite uncomfortably and heads off to her side of the village, sees her family, dines with them that night. Normal things, all to stave off unwelcoming, tremulous thoughts throughout the day. 

As she eats dinner, looks at her aunt, at her little cousin, an awful feeling takes over her. A greater grief she had thus far tried to put away plummets her mood. Their family dinners now are often ruined by the blatantly empty seat beside them. A young boy would usually sit at her side, laughing, making jokes. He was gone, she reminds herself sadly. It feels like a dull ache now, a slight twinge of pain that comes to her when she thinks of the cousin she lost to battle, but nonetheless, she tries to ignore it, incapable of handling so much sorrow all at once. 

The grief she feels can never stay to one tune before it’s intruded by even worse thoughts. Thoughts of the village and the personal dilemmas she has faced because of it. Thoughts of Madara, how he had left her. Thoughts of Tobirama, knowing that after last night especially, she was ruining whatever friendship she had rekindled with him recently. Maybe it had already been ruined beyond repair.

It’s late after dinner when she finally gathers the courage to go to his house, knowing that if she were to go to the Hokage office, he might be there with Hashirama. If she’s going to see him, it has to be alone. 

A knock on his door proves easy in terms of keeping her conviction, easier than she expected. He answers a moment later. She can’t decide if he’s annoyed or confused, likely both. All that’s for certain is the fatigue in his features. Sunken eyes, ruffled hair, a branch of red in his sclera. 

“Did I wake you?” she asks, surprised by her own volition of politeness, knowing he could turn her away at any moment. 

“No.”

“Then… could I come in?”

“I would rather you not.”

She takes a deep breath to settle her thoughts. “Please, Tobirama. I’m sorry about last night.” She remembers it all, no matter all the alcohol in her system. And by the dark expression on his face, so does he. “I was just…”

“Drunk.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“No. You weren’t.” He looks exasperated enough to shut the door on her, but he doesn’t. Not yet.

"That probably wasn't a good idea, after all," she says lightly and with warmth. But his lips stay in a thin line. She gives up trying to lessen the tension. "I just... I need to explain something to you."

Then she notices the supplies sack around his shoulder, customary for combat. It changes her train of thought. "Where are you going?"

"Out on a mission. Which is why you need to leave.” But when he tries to close the door, she presses it open.

"Why?"

He glares at her, but then his expression softens. "Explain to me."

"What?"

"You said you wanted to explain something to me. So do it while you still have the chance. I won’t be back anytime soon."

"Why are you leaving, Tobirama? Now, of all times?” A critical time. Madara gone, Hashirama in shambles. And now he’s about to leave too? "While your brother is lost and needs comfort—”

“My brother doesn't need anything,” he snaps. “And neither do you.”

She stares at him, appalled. “I'm sorry?”

“Madara came to you before he left. You and my brother both. You had your resolve. There’s nothing left to be done about it. I won’t sit here and entertain your misery.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning I won't serve as your emotional refuge while you get over it.”

Her head is spinning, possibly from the lasting effects of a hangover, more so from offense and frustration. “Why would you say that?”

“Am I wrong?”

“So that's why you're leaving? Because of me?”

“Not everything I do is because of you,” he says it with pointed malice. 

"Then Madara?”

“I don’t care about him. He’s no longer a Konoha shinobi."

She scoffs in disbelief, wondering how and when everything had suddenly spiraled out of control. “You're going to run from your problems, just like Madara did.”

He wants to yell at her, berate her. Tell her she was a fool to have trusted the Uchiha in the first place, and a fool to let him break her heart like he was. 

The last thing he wants to do is leave the village defenseless while Madara is out there, serving as a threat. With the way he had apparently left things off with his elder brother, Tobirama didn’t imagine it would be so far fetched of Madara to plan an attack of some sort. His vengeance had no bounds. He was a ticking time bomb. 

But more than Tobirama’s paranoia is his anguish. The fact he couldn’t get her out of his mind, whether his thoughts were of spite or fondness, no matter how hard he tried. He needed time away. When he comes back, he’ll have cleared all other thoughts aside from the village from his mind. That’s what he tells himself. The village is what mattered. Nothing else. 

“Leave this place now. I need to prepare.”

It’s a command she never expected to obey, but she does, happily. And he slams his door shut.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. Thanks for sticking around for this long, and sorry for the late update~

It's two weeks into the long mission when she starts understanding her sorrow. 

Word keeps returning that Konoha missions face trouble out in the field, ambushes and enemies at every corner. She spends half of her time consoling Hashirama and distracting him; the other, isolating herself to solve her own apprehensions.

“I wish he would at least send an envoy,” Hashirama says to her one day, lamenting. “Or something old fashioned. A messenger bird, even.”

She won’t reassure him that Tobirama is fine. That would be lying. She doesn’t know what transpires beyond the village borders at that point. From what she had seen first-hand, nothing promising. So she doesn’t speak, only allows him to vent whenever necessary.

“This is my fault,” he says quietly. And her eyes soften in sympathetic plea.

“How so?”

“I wasn’t myself after Madara left. Tobirama didn’t want to endure my grieving. I likely drove him out, too.”

It’s exactly her sentiment, but hearing it spoken into reality makes it feel all the worse.

“That’s how he is,” she tells him, attempting a cordial, reassuring tone. It fails. “You know him.”

“I suppose so. It still makes it no less difficult.”

She agrees in silence, noting that for once, he’s not responding to any placation. He isn’t normally so dense. 

“I heard you were at his house the other night.”

Her chest rises in flustered shame as Hashirama says it, but she won’t deny it. “I just wanted to speak with him."

To her relief, he doesn’t inquire on the matter any further. But his mood seems to change, not exactly for the better, not for the worse, either. “Do you think my brother is doing more harm than good?” 

It takes a long time, but she shakes her head. “No.” A moment of precaution stays her, as she wonders whether it’s the truth she believes, or the truth Hashirama wants to hear. “I think your brother makes mistakes. I think he can be misguided. But he’s a good man, at the core. Most of the harm he does came from a place of integrity, once. It doesn’t always work out the way he wants.” And as she speaks her long-conflicted thoughts into existence, she realizes that yes, she does believe them.

He smiles softly, looking at her for the first time with an intimate warmth that she’s never seen before, at least not for a long while, since before all the tragedy and trouble.

“I see why my brother likes you.”

“I’m sorry?”

Hashirama laughs quietly. “When he returns, I hope you two have the chance to speak.”

She nods, but her heart pounds fast at the notion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second that word comes back that Tobirama and his group have returned from the mission, she thinks Hashirama is going to cry. 

Four brothers and two already gone. She can only imagine how much the last one means to him. Which is why she doesn’t stay when the attendant comes to report that Tobirama is coming through the front gates of the village. Hashirama sends a message back, practically demanding that Tobirama be brought to the Hokage office. It would be selfish of her to cloud their reunion with her own pessimism. So she goes. 

Fate seems to be against her that night. She passes him on the way to her home, and her heart clenches. He's too preoccupied speaking with his squad to notice her, so she seizes the opportunity and changes direction. 

But he notices the familiar presence a second later, notices how abruptly she turns from him. He watches her walk off, discouraged to find that the same feelings he had tried so firmly to eradicate still dwell within him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's another two weeks before he does it.

The last thing she expects to hear at three hours past midnight is a knock on her door. She's in her room on the floor, working with scrolls. It's late for a visitor. Too late to be a normal visitor, at the least.

When she comes to the door and slides it open, Tobirama is there.

He looks awful, even so long after the mission. Scars are healing, the fading red of abrasions on his face. A fading bruise, too. A bandage around his arm. She wants to make a droll comment, but she can’t. Both of their eyes are too solemn for that. Seeing him is like seeing a ghost. 

The quiet atmosphere begs the civility she always tried so hard to furnish, but her mind is too torn to fake it anymore.

"What is it?”

He lifts a bundle of scrolls from his pocket. "Expense reports. My brother said you left them in his office a few weeks ago.”

She feels foolish. It had been her ploy for the entire operation in the first place. Pretending to work by Hashirama so closely just to keep his company, just to be there at the first word of Tobirama's movements. And she had forgotten her only alibi. How oblivious. 

She takes the bundle from him, but doesn't look him in the eyes. "Thank you."

He stops the door before she can shut it. 

"I need to speak to you.”

She eyes him cautiously, and despite herself, hopefully. Another part of her coaxes that hope down, anticipating nothing but disappointment. “About what?”

He doesn’t reply. He looks strained, uncertain, but cold and solemn all the same. It irritates her, just as it always does. The familiarity of it, gloomy as it is, must be what softens her doubt. She steps aside to let him in.

He doesn’t watch her as he removes his shoes at the front door, and she doesn’t watch him. Something advises that it wouldn’t be right, as if the wariness between them of careful gazes is no longer needed, or reasonable. When she walks into the living area, she catches him examining the scrolls she’s working through. But it's a quick glance, at the most. Considerate, he looks away almost as swiftly as he noticed the mess. He doesn't mean to pry, though he might have wanted to, and she appreciates it. 

“Do you want tea?” she asks, remembering the rush of chilly air that grazed her when she opened the door. He's in his simple training outfit, short sleeved and thin.

He doesn’t, but he nods anyway, needing something to do, something to fill the gap in his purpose.

As she leaves to her kitchen, Tobirama leans against a wall and observes her home. Even excluding the scrolls and books, it's not entirely clean. It's certainly the dwelling of a busy woman. He wonders how long she's been at it, slaving away, trying to find control amongst the chaos of their lives now. 

Returning with tea, she looks more uneasy than she had before, but he can't place the exact emotion beyond that. It's a simple look of dreariness, he discerns. She sits with him at her small table, and pours him a steaming cup.

They each take one preliminary sip to set the tone, almost in tandem. His eyes remain on the floor, sometimes drifting to her face, but stopping before he can make it to her eyes. He keeps expecting her to speak up. He's the guest, after all. Or maybe, in her mind, the transgressor. He can't exactly read her anymore. All he has to go by is their past. She should be interrogating him by now, inquiring his visit, seeking an explanation. But she does none of those things. So, he starts.

“I heard about what happened. You being advisor, I mean.”

"Yes." An entire hoard of sad acceptance translates in the simple word. He admires her for hiding it so well, or rather, suppressing it. But it's a morose sort of admiration. Sympathy, even. 

“Did the clan leaders force you to step down?”

“No. I told them I needed time to clear my head.”

When he had heard that she was dismissed as advisor to her clan, he was angry. Infuriated, even, suspecting that perhaps her clan had found blame in her for the village's disorder. Perhaps they couldn’t trust someone who had been so close to Madara Uchiha, a traitor and enemy to them now. To hear that it was her own turmoil which incited the decision is equally frustrating.

“What have you been doing to pass the time?” he asks.

“Nothing, really.”

“You haven’t spent time with your family?”

“No.”

“You’ve only been with my brother?”

“Yes.”

He hums, not exactly pleased with the answer. “Thank you. I’m sure whatever you did helped him along. I was surprised that he managed to get so much accomplished in my absence.” 

“It was no burden on my end."

“He tells me you were worried about me.”

She stops, not having expected the mood to shift so quickly, or for it to shift at all. Hashirama had been much more vigilant than she expected him to be in his grief. All focus and energy had been spent consoling him, acknowledging and validating his sorrow, and his worries. Perhaps she was naive to think he hadn't been doing the very same for her.

She compensates for the pause by pretending to pour more tea, though her glass is nearly full. “It was an important mission. Another failure for the village would have been—“

"Don't."

She puts down her cup, and can do nothing but look at him in simple repose. He does the same. Silence stretches longer than either of them would like. It’s clear that he won’t allow any more maneuvering of the truth, whatever it may be. The both of them have some vague idea as to what it is, but still the inkling of pride and caution keeps it all locked away. 

“What do you want me to say, Tobirama?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know. He shuts his eyes and rubs them tiredly. “He begs me every day to come here, my brother.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks at her, expecting her to understand. She does.

“Then why didn’t you come sooner?” she asks, voice softening as she realizes the denials and defenses are coming down. At least, judging by his willingness, she assumes that to be the case. How could she not do the same, when it was all she wanted all along?.

"I was sure you didn’t want me to.”

“Of course I did.”

He frowns. She says it like he's some idiot, some oblivious, uninitiated fool. Perhaps he is, he thinks. “After what you said to me before I left—”

“You know I didn’t mean it. And if anything, you’re the one who needs to remember what you said to me that day. It hurt me.”

“I know." He had thought about the awful things spoken for as long as the mission had lasted. His own callous words had followed him in a trail of regret like he had never experienced before. "I’m sorry."

Another pause. They both seem to drink more tea than their palates desire in an effort to fill the silence. 

She thinks carefully about what she’s going to say, then gives in with a sigh, tired of always formulating the best response to tailor him when all she wants and needs to do is simply speak her mind. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I know you’re just upset because of Madara and I—”

“I told you, I don’t care about him—”

“You didn’t let me finish," she cuts him off. "And obviously, you do care about him. Maybe not in the way your brother and I do, or... did. But there’s a reason the thought of him still angers you.”

He thinks she might go on, but he realizes by the expectant way she’s looking at him that he’s supposed to be the one talking. He’s supposed to be the one explaining. It seems as though they’re finally having the dreaded conversation meant to clarify and absolve. Odd enough, he feels none of that dread, as he had before. 

“I told you what I needed to that day,” he manages, finding he can’t look at her.

“That you didn’t want him to hurt me.”

“Yes.” He feels anger in him once again, rejuvenated by the very fact of it. Ironically, it proves her right; Madara's mere existence still lingers, but only through enmity. “But obviously, he did.”

“Was it hatred for him, or genuine concern for me that made you say it?”

He doesn’t give her an answer. She should demand one, but she doesn’t.

“Well, it was my fault that he hurt me,” she says, and to hear herself admit it should feel like a breath of fresh air. She had finally accepted her complicity in the sonorous road of Madara's treachery, despite how it had been paved with good intentions. Yet even now, none of it feels right. “For believing I could change him.”

Tobirama almost regrets that he lets her self-deprecate, but at least she’s finally seen the truth. “You were dragged into a dilemma that had roots in tension between our clans. You shouldn’t have been caught in the middle. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

She looks at him. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes," he admits. "I thought him leaving would clear the weight from your shoulders. But obviously, it hasn't. You and my brother are no better than you were while he was still here.”

Her heart hurts to hear him say it, as if he had somehow failed her. Perhaps in a way, he had. “He’s not the only one who made me feel the way I do right now. You hurt me, too. In a different way than he did. It wasn't all Madara. It never was.”

He could have argued, could have gone irate. But he sees she’s not inviting him to counter. They both know it’s the truth. But he needs to hear it from her. It would be his punishment, he decides, to hear of his misdeeds from the mouth of the sufferer. 

“How did I hurt you?” he invites her, despite how his instincts reprove him into vindication. 

“You left.”

He shakes his head angrily, giving in only slightly, but his voice remains calm, grasping onto and refusing to let go of his resign. “I told you I couldn’t stay and be the outlet for your grief.”

“I didn’t want you stay because of that. I wanted you to stay because... well, I just wanted you to.” Vulnerability tells her to stop there, but she refuses. “I needed you to.”

He shakes his head again, almost in denial of the sentiment she willingly submits. 

“Madara left,” she goes on, lost in her own thoughts, fretfully venturing into the sadness that had felt so confusing and overwhelming before. Now, it’s easier to understand, more transparent and explicable. “There was definitely something missing in me. Something still is.” She looks at him, and he looks back. He’s never seen her look so serene before. She takes a deep, long breath, as if the words free her from her mind’s prison. 

“But after so long, it’s not him that keeps me up at night trying to figure out how I feel. It’s you.”

Something hot and alarming sticks him in the chest. He can’t even hide the soft look on his face when he realizes that neither of them will be able to conceal what had remained locked away for so long now. All of his pride dissolves, and the inescapable truth comes to the forefront. 

He closes his eyes, thinking, taking it in. Anxiety flowers in her when he doesn't answer. She fears he may retreat yet again. But then, he smiles. She’s never seen him smile like that. Almost a smirk, something cynical and abject to it, but acknowledging nonetheless. 

“I've had the same dilemma,” he admits. "For a long time."

Then it’s her chest that aches. She swallows down the hesitation that shoots through her, trying to calm the beat of her heart. “Really?”

He nods.

Another flicker of doubt, then quickly afterwards, another flicker of hope. “Why?”

“I suspect the same reason that you do.” It’s almost in defeat that he goes on, but there’s a gentle acceptance in him that finally feels right. He’s never felt so much clarity. “Because I care too much." And then again, the admission propels him forward. "About you."

She hears the confession with heavy reluctance, as if she's afraid, or rather, unworthy to accept it. She nods as a response, not knowing if it even needs a response at all. Doubt keeps her body restrained from the happiness she should be indulging. 

“So it was just genuine concern for me,” she says, not making it out to be a question, more of a appeasing confirmation to herself. 

“It always was.”

Only then do the chains seem to loosen and go slack. Warmth floods her. The tear that falls down her cheek startles her. She hadn’t even felt it coming. She wipes it away quickly and sniffles, expecting more tears to come if she can't compose herself. But the long-suppressed passion within her forces its way out. She moves closer to him, and though he watches her with guarded eyes, he doesn’t protest when she puts her arms around him and her head against his shoulder. 

He returns the embrace with his good arm, wrapping it around her tight and secure, surprised at how relieved he is to feel her, to touch her and know she's safe in his arms. 

She doesn’t let go for a long time. He doesn’t mind. He closes his eyes and rests his head against hers, welcoming the peaceful comfort he had never felt before, and apparently, longed for the whole time.

“Will you stay?” she whispers. She no longer fears his rejection. Even if he does decline, she knows there's no disdain behind it. “Just for tonight?”

He could have spent hours thinking of the right response, but he can only say what first comes to mind.

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~~

It’s late one night while they’re in bed that Tobirama's doubts resurface. The smell of her hair, in a funny way, reminds him of the time he spent ignoring his feelings and relying on acrimonious fears alone. Where they are now, complacently inert, he can't picture himself as the cynic who made her life so difficult. Yet he was. Still is, despite his change of heart. And because he's the cynic, those resurfacing doubts can't be locked within him for too long. Much had changed for the better, certainly, but much still remains unsaid. 

“Do you think of him often?” he asks her in the darkness, not naive or ignorant enough to pretend he doesn't already know the answer, yet pensive enough that he has to hear it for himself. 

She knows who he refers to without any thought at all. Talk of Madara came seldom outside of village affairs. It's the first time in a long time that he openly welcomes the estranged man into their intimate conversations. She doesn't imagine it's easy for him, or at all pleasant. She also knows he isn't the the type of man to dwell on or entertain the biding of long past sentiment.

“Why? Why ask after all this time?”

"I assume that's a yes."

She thinks briefly of contending him. His tone isn't malicious or goading, but she wonders where the inquiry is rooted, and where it's headed. "Yes."

There’s no regret in her voice. His heart beat doesn't change. A long time ago it would have, in frustration—in jealousy, likely, now that he yields to admit it. He had asked not simply out of curiosity, and not out of some need to hear a different answer and clear his guilty conscience. He simply needs to know. Safely past the point of fear of the truth that might have once caused him heartache, he can go without fact no longer.  

"In that case, be honest with me. What did he want from you?"

She thinks about it, wondering if he's testing her in some way. “I don’t understand. You always thought he was using me.”

It's true. It's the only truth he could accept for a long time. But after so many months of watching her, knowing her, loving her, he can understand if Madara had felt the same way he did. It doesn't make him hate the man any less, but by some means of ironic, frustrating empathy, Tobirama can understand. It had been on his mind recently, despite his aversions to thinking about the past. 

"But that's not what you think, is it?" The way he says it leaves her no room for evasion or equivocation. 

She breathes deeply in contemplation, not understanding where his impulse comes from, but knowing it must be his form of resolution. So she won’t deny him.

“I don't know. Maybe I was only ever a means to an end. Or maybe not." It would be a lie to say she doesn't entertain the same question even so long after Madara had left. Perhaps it's a way to cope, to accept the fact that she may never truly know. "But does it really matter now, Tobirama?"

To him, it does.

Madara is unpredictable. Some nights, Tobirama wakes in anxious thought and glances over to confirm that she's still by his side. What unfinished business and what insatiated compulsions still plagued the Uchiha? What plans did he have, what plans unfolded even then, as they slept soundly at each other's sides night after night—what transpired beyond Tobirama's eye that he couldn't change or predict?

Numerous possibilities and numerous dangers. None of which have solutions, and none of which make Tobirama any more willing to relent his undying need to keep her safe. 

“It doesn’t," she answers for him on account of his silence. "We’re here now. Trust in that, and that alone.”

The arm around her waist pulls until she’s tight against him. Her hand intertwines with his, and relaxes him. He rests against her shoulder and closes his eyes.

He can't promise her that the doubt and suspicion will go away. Life feels easier now that they're together, but the idea of not knowing what the future holds still keeps him up at night.

But perhaps he _can_  just trust in the now, he decides. He can trust in her.

“I suppose you're right," he says. 

She smiles softly, content, and falls asleep in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I had a part in here with Madara in my first draft, a way to tie up the loose ends between him and the main character. But then I thought: it makes more sense to keep it a loose end
> 
> Madara's journey was one he took alone because of his own ideals. Once he decided on the future that the Uchiha tablet paved, he wasn't going back, and wasn't letting anything sentimental that may have been tied to Konoha stop him. So I felt it would have not only been out of character for Madara to tie up a loose end with the MC, but also, disrespectful to his whole character in the Naruto series. It would have been easy to write a scene where MC encounters Madara after his disappearance and they get resolution from each other in the form of a "the one that got away" sentiment, but I decided not to. He said his goodbyes and I feel he would stick to that. He abandoned everything when he left the village and that would include any romance or sentiment
> 
> And that's also why Tobirama was "end game" for this fic. I don't think a permanent lover would have fit into Madara's role in this story or in canon, no matter how deeply he cared for them or even loved them, so I wanted to respect that. Despite that, we of course know Uchiha love deep and hard and sometimes dangerously, hence why so much drama occurred with him and MC in this story. Their strife and angst wasn't all for nothing, but Madara did have an unavoidable future that I wanted to respect in this fic
> 
> I know this is a really short chapter, maybe even anti-climactic, but when it comes to an angsty but resolving ending with this story, I wanted it brief, without too much drama. There's 14 chapters of that before this already lol
> 
> Anyways, this has been a personal story of mine for almost three years now? It's crazy to actually have it posted. I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, I thought it could have been better. I just hope you all who stuck by this long enjoyed it. Thanks so much! Anyways I'll have other stories posted on my a03 from tumblr/new fics I've written. I'm just really slow lmao


End file.
